The Misadventures of Mari Hawke: Redux
by wintryone
Summary: The epic love story of Mari Hawke & Fenris, from just after the Deep Roads thru post game. The focus is on both 3 year breaks between the acts, but also covers Acts 2 & 3. Includes journal entries by our favorite dwarf, Varric Tethras! Originally published from March - July 2012. This version includes a new prologue & a nice polish and shine on the rest. Also Bethany/Sebastian.
1. Prologue

_**A/N:** A rerelease of "The Misadventures of Mari Hawke" in chapter form! My apologies to all of you who read and reviewed the first version. I hope this makes up for it :)_

_The only changes to the story are this new prologue, an edit on the original work, and I have combined the old chapters into new ones of around 4 – 5K. _

_This redux is dedicated to Fenzev, who welcomed me so warmly to ffnet from the first, and has provided me with so much support, inspiration, encouragement and friendship. Thank you so much._

_Also, thank you to Marina for her beta talents, and to Fenzev for helping me to make sure this redux is as perfect as it can be. _

_One more huge thank you - to the talented and lovely Ekocentric, who created the beautiful cover art! _

_Xoxo_

_Wintry_

_p.s. As much as I wish it were mine, __Bioware owns Dragon Age _ )

* * *

**PROLOGUE**

Many have told the tale of the Champion of Kirkwall. Ballads are sung from Orlais to Rivain in honor of the Ferelden refugee who changed the face of Thedas.

In some tales Mari Hawke is portrayed as a ruthless rogue, who conquered the city in a lust for power. In others she is known as a victim of circumstance, thrust into her role as Champion by events beyond her control.

The truth is neither of those things. The real story begins and ends with Hawke's true heart. It is the tale of how a lone woman stood against loss, betrayal and corruption, and did not waver.

Also well known is Mari Hawke's escape from the blight in Ferelden, the loss of her brother Carver to a mighty ogre, and her year in servitude to the mercenary band, the Red Iron. Though she did not know it, many eyes were upon her even then. Perhaps if you'd known her, you would understand. Simply being in her presence could change your heart and your mind; such was her influence on all who came in contact with her.

I think it's time I introduced myself. Varric Tethras, at your service. Businessman, storyteller and proud owner of Bianca. I first met the Champion - by design, I assure you – because I needed help with a little problem. From everything I'd seen and heard about her, she was exactly who I needed.

With my wit and my charm, I convinced Hawke and her apostate sister, Bethany, to buy into my brother Bartrand's Deep Roads Expedition. It probably didn't hurt my case that she was desperate at that point, living as she was in her Uncle Gamlen's hovel in Lowtown, with her mother and Bethany. More than anything she wanted to protect her sister from the watchful eyes of the Templars, and I had just the means to help her.

Bethany, who came to be known as Sunshine, was a softhearted, beautiful young woman, and I doubt that two sisters have ever been closer. She was also a talented mage, well trained by her father, despite her apostate status - and there was not one bit of harm in her. If you didn't immediately love Bethany Hawke, I'd have to say there was something seriously wrong with your soul.

One by one, Hawke gathered to her an odd assortment of companions.

Anders was an apostate, and a former Grey Warden, running a clinic in Darktown to aid the poor and downtrodden. He had maps of the Deep Roads that we sorely needed, you see, but he also had a little problem of his own. That problem was a spirit named _Justice_, and in many ways it was Hawke's association with Anders, the possessed mage, that defined the shape of this story. But that part is for much later.

Isabela was a former raider and pirate, stranded in Kirkwall by a storm that destroyed her ship, or so she said. The truth was much more insidious, but that part of the story will also have to wait. For now you only need know that Rivaini loved sex and coin, in that order. Few could understand the unlikely friendship that developed between Isabela and Hawke. It probably didn't hurt that Rivaini was skilled with her blades, and a master of stealth – the only two things they had in common.

Merrill, otherwise known in some circles as Daisy, and in others as a blood mage, left her Dalish clan to live in Kirkwall's alienage. The reason she left had something to do with some crazy elven mirror, which you'll find out about if you keep reading. Merrill was a sweet thing, but dangerous. I think Hawke kept her around mostly to protect the unwary citizens of Kirkwall, at first. Yet Daisy had a way about her that crept under your skin and demanded you be fond of her. At least that was true for me, and for Hawke as well, I think.

Perhaps I should have mentioned Aveline first, as she escaped Ferelden with Hawke, but lost her Templar husband to the taint along the way. Aveline quickly rose to her own niche of power in Kirkwall as Captain of the City Guard. Of all of us, I think she was the most loyal to Hawke, in her way. She was no-nonsense, and quite often a pain in the ass. I do know, however, that there were many times that Aveline's connections in the city were of great help to Hawke's cause – whatever that cause was at the time.

I have yet to mention the most important of Hawke's companions. That would be Fenris. He was a runaway slave being hunted by his former master - a powerful Tevinter Magister. The first time we ever saw him he stuck his fist into the chest of a slaver and crushed his heart. How, you ask? Fenris was covered in lyrium tattoos, which apparently were quite painful, but also provided him with some very unique talents. His skill with a broadsword was also unmatched in the city, and our Hawke was attracted to him from the very first time they met. What happened between them is the real heart of this story.

Suffice it to say we made it to the Deep Roads. Hawke chose to bring Anders and Fenris along with us, and it was basically a disaster. My brother, out of greed and madness, locked us away in an ancient thaig, abandoning us to certain death. Or so he thought. He didn't understand just who Hawke was, and that she was capable of accomplishing miracles. We eventually escaped, and also eventually became _very_ rich. Sadly, however, Hawke returned to find Bethany being taken to the Gallows by the Templars. In all the years I've known Hawke, I think that may have been the lowest I've ever seen her, losing her sister to the Circle that way.

That's where this story begins – just after we'd returned from the Deep Roads, with our Hawke a little bit drunk, and very unhappy with her current living situation in Lowtown. Hehe.

Just you wait and see - it's a tale unlike any other.


	2. Chapter 1

Hawke's face was pressed into her folded arms. She was drowning her sorrows with her friends, drinking pints in Varric's suite. She mumbled something incoherently.

"What was that, Hawke?" Varric asked while cocking his head to get a look at her face.

Barely lifting her eyes, she looked at the dwarf and said, "I cannot take another day."

This comment had everyone in the room suddenly looking at Hawke. Isabela, Merrill, Varric and Fenris gaped at her with varying degrees of astonishment, disbelief and concern. Fenris also made a fist with one gauntleted hand.

"And what is it you're talking about again?" asked Varric.

Suddenly Hawke stood, knocking Varric's pint to the floor, while taking three quick steps until she loomed over him. "Haven't you been listening?" she asked him, her hands on her hips.

Varric looked sadly at the spilled ale leaking into the cracks of the rough, wooden planks. "Whatever it is, that mug was nearly full. You owe me one, Hawke."

"Oh, you are such a… such a… DWARF!" she lifted both hands, spun around and found herself facing Fenris. She scowled at him. "Were _you_ listening?" she asked in a dangerously quiet voice.

Fenris cleared his throat, started to speak, looked down at his feet, then back up at Hawke's face before finally saying, "Did it have something to do with Gamlen's snoring?"

A triumphant smile lit her face. "See, Fenris listens to me!" she crowed as she turned back toward Varric.

Varric chuckled. "Fenris pays attention to everything…"

"Careful Dwarf," growled Fenris. Fenris growled a lot.

Varric continued, "Yes, well, to everything. Like I said." He hurriedly reached for Hawke's pint and took a long pull of ale. "Right," he said, as if that solved everything.

Deflated, Hawke sank back into her chair and grabbed her pint back from Varric. "What am I going to do?" she asked no one in particular. "Mother said it could be months before the paperwork is in place for us to reclaim the estate. I can not live under the same roof with that man for one more day."

"Well sweet thing, you could move in with me," Isabela purred.

Hawke shook her head, "No, no. Your room is entirely too…" she paused searching for the right word as she tapped her chin. "Busy," she decided with a firm nod, glaring at Isabela.

Varric chuckled. "She's got you there, Rivaini."

"I wish she get me somewhere, anyway," Isabela replied with a wink in Hawke's direction.

"This isn't helping," said Hawke. She began to pace back and forth between where Fenris leaned against the wall, and where Varric sat at the head of the table. Her footing wobbled now and then - the result of indulging in too many pints. "Wait!" she exclaimed, and the inevitable stumbling over her feet finally happened. Fenris grabbed her elbow, steadying her. Hawke was graceful in a fight, but was rather clumsy when she drank. She gave him a quick smile before proclaiming, "I don't have to share a room with Isabela! I can get my own room here!"

"Here?" asked Varric.

"Here!" Hawke confirmed, delighted with herself. "At the Hanged Man!"

Merrill finally spoke. "I suppose sour ale and vomit is better than old cabbages."

* * *

"Mari, why must you move into that wretched place?" Leandra asked plaintively.

"Mother, look around you." Hawke swept an arm around the room, indicating Gamlen's hovel. "Wretched."

"It's not so bad, and really, at least here you are with family. Who knows what could happen to you around that group of…"

"Mother…" Hawke warned.

"Yes, well." Leandra placed her hands on Hawke's shoulders and her eyes began to mist. "I've already lost Carver, and now Bethany is in the Gallows. You can't leave me, too!"

Hawke removed her mother's hands from her shoulders and gripped them tightly between her own. "Right around the corner, Mother. We'll have dinner together most nights, Mother. I'm not leaving you."

"We'll be in the estate, soon," Leandra sobbed. "Why can't you wait?"

Hawke didn't try to answer. She kissed her mother's soft cheek, said, "I'll see you tomorrow," and slipped through the door before Leandra piled more guilt on her head.

* * *

"So, this is your new place, huh?" Aveline asked as she looked around the cramped room where Hawke now lived.

"Yes, Aveline. It's small, stuffy and there are bloodstains by the closet. Also, I think a mouse lives in there, but I can't seem to catch him." Hawke was tired of the less than flattering comments about her _new place_. "So unless you have something useful to say…" She ran her hand through her short brown hair and let out a long, frustrated breath.

"There is something," Aveline replied, giving Hawke a measured look.

"Something your guards can't take care of?" Hawke had heard this story before. Aveline often asked for her _unofficial_ help when it was politically dangerous for the guard to be involved.

"They could, yes," Aveline replied evasively.

"Then why do you need me?" Hawke asked, really puzzled.

Aveline sat on the edge of Hawke's hard, single bed and looked at her seriously. "There are slavers on the coast again. Looks like they're using those same caves where we found Feynriel a couple of years back."

Hawke swallowed. She fought the urge to GO DO SOMETHING, and instead asked, "Details?"

"Not many. Rumors of a Tevinter ship arriving in a few days to pick up _cargo_."

"You think this has anything to do with Fenris?" Hawke's heart was pumping hard in her chest at the thought.

"I honestly don't know, Hawke," replied Aveline, looking at her friend with some concern. "I want to stay out of this one."

"Why would that be?"

"Because I want them dead, not captured," Aveline hissed in a low voice.

Hawke nodded once. "I'll take Varric and Anders."

"And Fenris?" Aveline asked, and Hawke could swear there was a slight smile on her friend's face.

Hawke did not take the bait, but simply replied, "Yes, and Fenris."

After Aveline left, Hawke hurriedly began throwing supplies into her knapsack. If there was even the slightest possibility of Danarius being within 100 miles of Kirkwall, Hawke was not about to allow Fenris to be on his own for even a second. Yes, he was moody, and broody, and sometimes rude and often infuriating. But then there was the way his eyes looked at her with such intensity, and how his voice shivered its way down her spine. Add to those fine qualities, his honesty, and bravery and his skill in battle, and Hawke had considered herself smitten for many months now. Since their return from the Deep Roads, thinking of him had become a near obsession.

Now was not, however, the time to examine her feelings. Now she had to help and protect her friend, just as she had promised. She strapped on her daggers and walked out the door.

* * *

Fenris stood at the table, slowly pulling his blade across the oiled whetstone. His movements were measured and precise in a way he found oddly hypnotic. Sharpening his sword brought him a peace, a release from his normally troubled thinking. He looked forward to the blade going dull, making it necessary for him to engage this process. He should ask Hawke if she'd like him to sharpen her daggers, as well. The thought made him smile. Thoughts of Hawke usually made him smile. Or wince. Sometimes scowl.

He heard a small pop, and for a moment wondered if a log had shifted in the fireplace. But no, soon he heard soft footfalls approaching the stairway and tensed until he realized it was Hawke. There was no mistaking her stride.

"Fenris?" her voice drifted up to him - a voice filled with lilting, unsung music. Tonight there was an edge to it, a hoarseness he only ever heard when she was very tired, or very stressed. He set his blade carefully back on its stand and waited for her to come to him.

Hawke sauntered through the door, casually dropping a knapsack on the floor, before moving to the fireplace and warming her hands. "Been sharpening your blade again?" she asked.

"How did you know?" he asked her in turn.

"I can smell the oil, of course."

"Of course." He watched the light from the fire dance across her cheek for a moment, before clearing his throat and saying, "I'd be happy to attend to your blades, as well."

She looked at him, a smile on her lips that did nothing to dispel the worry in her dark eyes. "I'd like that, thank you."

"Perhaps you'd like to tell me what is wrong, Hawke," he asked in the same monotone he would use to ask _how's the weather today?_

Her shoulders dropped, and she moved a hand over her brow in a swift gesture of fatigue. Tired and stressed, Fenris thought.

She sat on the bench by the table and began idly spinning an empty wine bottle with her hand. "So, how would you like to hunt some slavers?" she asked, not looking at him.

"Of course I want to hunt slavers," he said a bit impatiently. Fenris watched as Hawke's hand stilled and she looked up at him. "Just tell me where they are," he insisted.

"We can't go tonight," she said, the edge in her voice increasing. "They're out on the coast, we'll go at first light."

She wasn't telling him everything, that much was apparent. He approached the table and sat down next to her. "Have you heard something? Is it Danarius?" he asked, pronouncing his ex-master's name with a sneer.

Hawke sighed and looked down at her hands. "I don't know, Fenris. Aveline came to me with this. It looks like an organized group."

"Tevinter?" he asked with more calm than he felt.

"Most definitely."

Fenris stood and began to pace. In all truth, he wanted it to be Danarius. Wanted to remove the threat to his freedom with a well-placed fist in the Magister's chest. What would that feel like, to know his ex-master did not exist in the world? Who would he be when he was no longer an escaped slave, but a free man? What would he choose? He stopped pacing and looked down at Hawke, still sitting at the table, running an errant piece of string around and through her dexterous fingers. Perhaps the question was _who_ would he choose?

"So, I'll be staying here tonight," Hawke said out of nowhere.

"Staying… here?" Fenris stuttered, and his heart felt as if it suddenly flew into his throat.

Hawke nodded, still focused on her fingers and the string, not looking at him. "Yes." It was a simple declarative statement.

Fenris opened his mouth to object, intending to begin with words like "it is not necessary," or "that is impossible." Yet they would not come out through his lips. If Danarius was here, the aid of Hawke and her daggers could be the difference between freedom and slavery. Could he really allow his pride or discomfort (oh, and what discomfort she caused him) to be the reason he would reject an honest offer of help? Did he want to remain free, or didn't he? So he actually said was, "Thank you."

Hawke's head jerked up in surprise. "What? No argument?"

"No. It is a prudent decision." To his surprise, he felt utterly composed.

Suddenly that devilish smile of hers, the one that always caused his stomach to drop, like that sudden feeling of being airborne, with no ground beneath you. Hawke stood up from the bench and moved towards him, hips swinging in an Isabela-like manner.

"But I so look forward to our debates, Fenris," she drawled.

"Mmm," he cleared his throat and replied, "You are quite good at debating."

And… there came the discomfort. Whenever Hawke flirted with him, he wasn't quite sure how to respond. Since the first night they'd met, when she had told him, "That would be a waste of a perfectly handsome elf," he had not been able to match her easy banter, or find his own wicked smile for her. He was afraid he was incapable of doing so - that his years with Danarius had so broken him as a man that he could not even have a mild flirtation with the most beautiful women he'd ever seen - one who flirted with him quite shamelessly, at least on occasion. He had no past, no memories. The ritual for his markings had stolen everything from him, and he was ashamed that he'd never told Hawke that horrible truth; yet could not bear to see her look at him in pity.

Hawke stared into his eyes for a long moment, as if she was searching for something there, before dropping her posture and resuming her seat on the bench. "I'll take first watch," she told him.

* * *

Everything went fine until it was her turn to rest and she crawled into the bed still warm from his body. Oh my. It _smelled_ like him. She had removed all the pointy bits of her armor, but still couldn't settle down. She wanted him here with her. She sighed and turned over again.

"The bed is not to your liking?" Fenris asked in that polished and reasonable tone he used whenever he wasn't angry or brooding.

"Sorry, yes, it's fine," she said trying to force herself to remain still. "Very comfortable," she added, if somewhat unconvincingly.

"Then why are you tossing about that way?" he asked, sounding genuinely curious.

How was she supposed to answer that? Because your naked body isn't writhing beneath mine? Because your tongue isn't down my throat? She couldn't imagine that those truthful answers would sit very well with him, so instead she said, "I'm fine, Fenris, really."

"Very well," he said. "If you don't mind, I will sharpen your blades while I keep watch."

"Of course I don't mind. Thank you."

She buried her face in his pillow, deciding that if she couldn't exactly relax in his bed, perhaps his lingering scent could at least inspire some interesting dreams. The soft, rasping sound of metal over stone eventually lulled her into sleep. Her dreams? Well, let's just say they included a lot of writhing.

Hours later when she opened her eyes, disoriented, not knowing where she was, unsure why her bed had suddenly become so soft, it all came flooding back to her when she saw Fenris sitting in the chair by the fireplace.

"You are a restless sleeper, Hawke," he said without turning to look at her.

She swung her legs onto the floor and wiped a hand across her face. "So I've been told," she sighed. "Bethany hated it when we were forced to share a bed."

_Bethany?_ Thought Fenris. No mention of the men who had shared her bed. Interesting. "You must dream a lot," he remarked.

Hawke stood and went to the sideboard, where she poured water from the pitcher into a mostly clean cup. "I do. Very vivid dreams." She crossed and sat in the opposite chair, eyeing him nervously. "When I was a little girl, and my mother would tuck me in a night, I would kiss her goodnight and tell her I would see her when I got back from the other place."

"The other place?"

"Yes, it was my name for the Fade. I didn't understand that my daytime life was real and that dreams were in some sort of spirit world. They both felt equally real to me, if very different. After all, in my dreams I still looked like me and sounded like me, but there were so many other kinds of people and animals and things I never saw in the daytime world."

"Eventually you figured out the difference?" he asked, interested.

"Yes, my father taught me. Being an apostate, he knew about the Fade, and taught me what to look for that would let me know I was dreaming." She laughed softly. "He'd say, Bethany may be our mage child, but you, little Mari, are magical in your own way." The smile faded and she shook her head.

Fenris sat calmly listening to Hawke's story of her childhood and family, suppressing the urge to tell her she was better of without magic. On the inside, however, his adrenalin was pumping. Several times during the night Hawke had called his name, twice adding, "please", as in "Please Fenris!" And it hadn't sounded like she was asking to borrow his polishing cloth. No. Something was building between them, something of which he had no experience, no knowledge and no understanding. He was more fearful of whatever that something was than a whole coast full of Tevinter slavers.

* * *

"Wait here," Hawke said to her companions before seeming to melt into the scenery around them. She was off to recognizance the entrance to the cave. On their way down the coast they were attacked three times by small groups of slavers – all easily dispatched, but Hawke was nervous. She'd heard one of them say, "There's the elf!" right before sliding her dagger across his throat.

Lately, most of her training time had been devoted to hiding, stealth, and camouflage, and with the help of Isabela, she'd been rapidly improving. Now she put her training to the test, as she scaled the rocks above the cave entrance. Finding a good vantage point, she settled in to watch and listen.

"Bloody unfair we didn't get to Kirkwall," one especially tall, hairy man said. "Heard there's a decent brothel."

"Aye," laughed another gangly man with a very large nose. "Kram and his lot probably spent all their time with the whores, instead of looking for the elf."

"Captain said there'd be a big bonus if we found him," said the hairy man. "But at least we rounded up enough cargo to make it worth the trip."

"I heard that elf can take down a dozen men with one swipe of his sword," said another man.

"Bah," said the hairy man. "I never saw an elf big enough to handle a great sword."

"I just hope the blighted ship's on time," said the large-nosed man. "Those elves are starting to stink."

The men all laughed at that. Sickened, Hawke listened for a few more minutes, but the conversation had turned to the many brothels they'd visited in their travels, arguing over which ones offered the best _specialties_.

"You're getting awfully good at that," Varric said as Hawke appeared behind them, seemingly out of nowhere.

Hawke grinned. "Isabela is a good teacher."

"Oh, and here I thought you'd been spending all that time with her learning _other_ skills," Varric laughed.

Hawke tried to suppress the blush climbing up her cheeks, but knew she'd failed when Varric wiggled his eyebrows at her. "Sorry to disappoint your lewd imagination, Varric, but women aren't my thing."

Varric only laughed harder.

"The slavers?" Fenris interjected, moving to stand next to Hawke.

Hawke immediately became serious as she turned to him. "There are a dozen guards at the entrance. Most with swords, but I saw two bowmen, and creepy looking guy with daggers." Hawke's eyes got that faraway look they always did when she was planning strategy.

It had surprised Varric at first. From her reputation he'd known she was skilled with her daggers, and had the determination to get any job done, but her ability to lead a team into battle seemed contrary to her usual scattered, chaotic ways. When Hawke looked back at them, her eyes were focused, the set of her jaw grim. Gone was the laughing, carefree Hawke. The woman in front of him now was a deadly force to be reckoned with.

"Fenris, go in first. Take down as many as you can. I'll be right behind you." She turned to Anders. "You know the drill, Anders. Get off as many fireballs as you can and then switch to keeping us all alive. And Varric…"

"Yes my friend?"

"Time for Bianca to sing," she said with a steely smile.

"That's her favorite thing, Hawke."

"One more thing," she said turning to the elf standing beside her. "Don't use your markings unless you absolutely have to. They know about you."

Fenris nodded, pulling his sword from his back.

"Let's go."

* * *

It was a slaughter, as were the next two groups they encountered, once inside the caverns. They were deep underground now, and Hawke's senses were on high alert - they were closing in on where the slaves were being held, she could feel it.

"I'm going ahead, see what we're up against," she told her companions.

"Are you sure that's a good idea, Hawke?" asked Anders. "What if something happens to you?"

"You're kidding, right?" Hawke replied, and lifted one eyebrow in disbelief.

"No, I'm not kidding," Anders took a step closer to her. "We should all go."

Hawke looked at him, her expression foreboding. "Back off, Anders. This is what I do."

The mage glared at her for a moment before turning away with a brief nod.

"Not smart, Blondie," Varric said as Hawke disappeared into the darkness.

"What, because I care enough to want to protect her?" Anders nearly shouted.

"Quiet mage," growled Fenris. "You're the one endangering Hawke with your shouting."

Anders narrowed his eyes at Fenris but remained silent. Varric looked back and forth between the elf and the mage, wondering which one would be the love interest in this particular little story. While they waited, he started spinning the tale in his head.

Hawke returned a short time later. "Well, I've got good news and bad news," she said. "Which do you want first?"

"The bad news," said Varric. "Always best to get it out of the way."

"They've got a mage with them," she said. "And because these slavers are Tevinter…"

"It's a blood mage," Fenris finished for her with a sneer.

Hawke sighed. "Corpses, anyone?"

"What's the good news?" asked Varric.

"Looks like they've spread themselves pretty thin. Other than the mage, there's a guy with a very large sword and shiny armor, who appears to be the leader, and maybe two dozen others." Hawke ran a hand over the top of her head, ruffling her short hair. "The cave is large, very open. Still, it's going to be tricky." She looked up, that faraway look returning, as if she were seeking answers from Andraste herself. Maybe she was.

"Fenris, focus on the shiny armor guy – take him out as quickly as you can. Varric, sick Bianca on whoever's attacking Fenris." She looked at the elf and for a moment the concern in her eyes was apparent, before the steely look rapidly returned. "Anders, try and hit the mage with something fast, before he gets a shield up. He's mine. Help Varric when you can, and then heal, heal, heal." Hawke flipped her daggers from her back. "I'll go in first, try to get behind the mage. Ready?"

There were nods and grunts of agreement, and they followed her into the darkness.

* * *

"Hawke! Hawke!" Anders was calling her name from very far away. Or at least it sounded far away. When she opened her eyes, everything was blue and glowing. "She's coming around," he said, and allowed the healing spell to fade.

She began to struggle into a sitting position, and suddenly there were hands on her back, helping her. "Hawke," _his_ voice traveled down her spine.

"Fenris," she said, relief flooding through her. "That mage, he…"

"I've never seen a spell like that," said Anders. "It was like he sucked the life right out of you."

"Common in Tevinter," Fenris sneered.

"Where's Varric?" asked Hawke, fear building in her chest again.

"Right behind you, Hawke," said the dwarf.

She sighed, relieved, before regaining her feet and looking around. "Maker, that's a lot of dead bodies," she said absently. "All right, let's find the captives."

* * *

It was heart breaking. Nearly thirty elves, mostly women and children, were crammed into low-ceilinged side cavern. Many were injured and all of them looked emaciated. Hawke nearly broke down when she saw one woman clutching an infant to her breast. The baby's skin was nearly black, it's lifeless limbs dangling from its swollen body. She rejected the pity that arose in her breast. Pity would not help these people. Anger would. Here, before her very eyes, was the horror of slavery. She glanced at Fenris and saw the rage darkening his expression. Yes, anger was the answer – anger translated into action.

It took several hours to get everyone out into the light. Anders had managed to pry the dead infant from the woman's arms, but she was inconsolable, keening and rocking, unable to do anything on her own. Several of the stronger elves moved to take care of her.

Anders was busy healing and Hawke was handing out all the elfroot potions she had with her. Maker, why hadn't she brought more? Fenris and Varric were gathering supplies from the caverns.

Finally, one of the women approached her: An older woman, with grey streaks running through her dark braids. "Thank you, Serah," she said, holding out her hand.

Hawke nodded and grasped the woman's slim fingers. She said, "I'm Hawke."

The woman bowed her head and said, "I am Tanerra. I am the Keeper of this clan."

"This is your whole clan?" asked Hawke.

"All that is left," replied Tanerra, shaking her head sadly.

"Will you…" Hawke began, "Can we take you to Kirkwall?"

"No, Serah Hawke, but I thank you. There is a place not far from here, where we can make camp with the supplies you have given us," she said smiling slightly. "It is well hidden. We will heal our wounds and move on from this place of death."

"Is there anything…" Hawke began.

Tanerra interrupted her, "No, you have done more than enough. May the Dread Wolfe never find you, Serah Hawke."

* * *

Fenris was pacing. He was a very good pacer, having practiced so much. In his hand was a folded piece of parchment he'd taken from the lead slaver, whose head Fenris had happily separated from his body. Every now and then he would stop and look at the paper in his hand, while cursing in Arcanum. "Venhedis!" Where was she?

After killing the slavers and freeing the captives, their return trip to Kirkwall had been quiet. All of them were affected by what they had witnessed, none of them felt chatty. Even Varric, who seemed to always have a quip or a joke, had remained silent. Before she'd entered the Hanged Man, Fenris had asked, "Will you come to the mansion later?" to which she had nodded without saying anything. That had been hours ago. Darkness had fallen and she had not yet come.

Where was she?

This relentless waiting was maddening. He'd have to make the journey to Lowtown and find her. He'd just strapped his sword to his back when her voice came floating up to him.

"Fenris?"

He walked out onto the landing to see Hawke approaching the stairs. "Why are you out alone after dark? That is foolish, Hawke," he said with more anger than he'd intended.

"Relax, Fenris," she said smiling up at him. "It gives me a chance to practice my stealth."

He glowered. Something else he was well practiced at.

"Your stealth would do you no good if you were found and outnumbered," he said following her into his room.

Her shoulders slumped. "True," she said quietly. "I meant to come earlier, but Mother was especially chatty at dinner."

She looked tired. After all she'd done for him, he was ungratefully repaying her with his bad temper. He watched as she took a seat by the fire and took off her boots.

"Maker my feet hurt. I think I need new boots," she said wearily, massaging one foot.

Why did he suddenly want to do that for her? He pushed the thought away and sat in the chair next to hers. "I found this on the slaver captain," he said, holding out the parchment to her.

"What's this?" she asked and unfolded the parchment. She began to read.

"Would you…" Fenris cleared his throat before finishing with, "read it aloud?"

He had been frustrated all day wanting to read the parchment, yet unable to do so. Slaves were not taught to read, but he would rather not admit that to Hawke. He waited for her questions, but they did not come. Instead, she simply began to read.

_Captain Jarrick,_

_It has come to my attention that you will be undergoing certain operations along the Wounded Coast. There is a matter of lost property you may be able to help me with. I have reason to believe that this property is currently residing in the nearby city of Kirkwall. It is an elf, tall with white hair and unmistakable markings on his skin._

_This property is very valuable to me, and its return would be worth not only a sizeable monetary reward, but also the favor of a Magister of Tevinter. I could do much for your standing in the Imperium if you were successful in retrieving this runaway slave. I would have him returned unscathed. This is non-negotiable._

_I understand that this elf has surrounded itself with skilled and dangerous companions. Several attempts at its recapture have failed. This is your chance to elevate your standing, and fill your coin purse. Do not fail._

_Magister Danarius_

_Minrathous_

_Tevinter Imperium_

Fenris watched Hawke carefully refold the parchment. He had a sudden dread that she would raise her eyes to his and look upon him in pity. He did not want pity, hers or anyone else's. It was a weakness, one that could land him dead or recaptured. She looked up then, holding the parchment out to him. At first he only noticed the tears in her eyes, and he fought the urge to give into his anger and break things, or to berate her for her misplaced sympathy. Then he noticed that behind the tears was a fierce anger - a blazing furnace of outrage.

Though her lips trembled when she spoke, the words she said were delivered with cold steel in her voice. "That sick bastard is so dead."

Fenris felt something new stir within his chest. A warmth, a strength he had never felt before. Only used to feeling pain, anger and humiliation, or the absolute empty lack of feeling that comprised his day-to-day life; this new thing threatened to overwhelm him. He looked down at the parchment in his hands, unable to think clearly or respond to her.

Hawke's soft voice found its way through his confusion as she said, "It's easy to be against slavery on principle. It's obviously wrong to own people. It's _evil_. But after what I saw today…" she paused and inhaled a ragged breath. "After that, I feel like I was as bad as any pompous nobleman, spouting off about some grand cause without understanding the reality." There was another long pause before she said, "I will do better, Fenris. I promise you."

He looked up at her then, and whatever it was that she saw in his eyes, in his expression, caused her eyes to widen and her lips to part on a soft breath. Again that discomfort only she could arouse in him. Only Hawke. He struggled for a moment, masking his emotions before looking back at her.

"You've always done better than anyone I've ever met, Hawke," he said softly. "I owe you my thanks, again."

She surprised him then. Instead of asking more questions, or wanting to engage in a rant about slavery, she grinned at him and said, "Got any more of that Aggreggio? I'd really like to get drunk right now."

The laugh that escaped him, though rough around the edges, was genuine. "As you wish," he replied and went off to find a bottle.


	3. Chapter 2

Hawke's first thought was, _how awkward_. She was lying on a blanket in front of the cold fireplace. Above her, Fenris was asleep on the table, surrounded by empty wine bottles. Her second thought was, _Maker my head hurts_. She groaned when she tried to sit up.

One startling green eye opened and peered down at her. "Head hurt?" he asked.

"Ouch, yes. Doesn't yours?" And then her stomach began to rumble, or maybe churn. Yes, that could definitely be churning.

"No," Fenris replied. "I seem to be immune to hangovers."

"Lucky…" she began, then abruptly closed her mouth. _Uh oh. Not good._ Her eyes scanned the room and noticed a large wooden bowl tossed in a corner. She was up and clutching the bowl in seconds as she heaved the contents of her stomach into it. _Great, just great_. This would really impress him. Hawke throwing up in the corner. _Perfect_.

"You are not well," he said from behind her, much too close behind her.

"Mmph grrrr," and she threw up again.

She knelt on the hard, cold floor, her breathing labored, doing her best to regain control of herself. She was embarrassed beyond belief. More embarrassed than when Carver had hung her small clothes on the Chanter's board when she was twelve. How would she ever face Fenris again?

The air stirred behind her and suddenly a cool, wet cloth was pressed to her forehead. She tried to apologize for throwing up in his bowl, but the minute she opened her mouth again, she started retching.

And then his shivery voice, right near her ear, was saying, "You'll be fine. Just breathe, take it slow."

And somehow, that made it better. Her stomach began to settle and she felt like she could open her mouth without vomiting. "Thank you," she whispered hoarsely. She made to stand, intent on removing the offending bowl from his sight, but his hands reached and drew the bowl away before she could. Still feeling week, she leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. Mortified. Yes, that was the word, completely mortified.

"Better?" he asked, squatting in front of her.

She couldn't look at him yet, but she nodded. "I'm so sorry…" she began.

"No need," he said. "We drank quite a lot last night. It happens."

Really, she just wanted out of his sight. No matter his calm acceptance and comfort, he must think her completely repulsive at this point.

"I…I should go," she said, finally chancing a look at his face.

He nodded and stood, offering a hand to her. She took it and he pulled her to her feet, which were bare. Where were her boots? She noticed how quickly he released her hand, and that only confirmed her mortification.

"Shall I walk you home?" he asked.

"No, no. I'll be fine. Really, thank you for everything." She saw her boots by the fireplace and quickly grabbed them.

"Next time," he said, "We shall go easy on the Aggreggio."

She tried to laugh, but it came out sounding rather pathetic. As soon as she had her boots on she was out the door and into the sunshine of a Kirkwall morning before she could embarrass herself further. _Andraste's ass!_ Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. But as she walked down the long steps to Lowtown, she remembered the look in his eyes when she'd proclaimed Danarius dead. He'd never looked at her like that before. Like she was a loaf of sweet bread and he was a starving man. She shivered, even though the day was warm. Then she remembered the vomiting, and the quick release of her hand, and wondered if she'd ever see him look at her that way again.

* * *

Fenris threw away the expelled contents of Hawke's stomach, wooden bowl and all. He hadn't minded, it was much less vile than some of his required tasks under Danarius' hand. _Best not to think of that._ He also tossed the empty wine bottles – four in all. Not a surprise she'd gotten sick. Even his iron-caste stomach didn't feel particularly well this morning. He imagined Hawke was back in her room at the Hanged Man by now, sleeping off the rest of her hangover. At least he hoped so - she really had not been well. Fenris thought he could probably do with more sleep himself, after a night of drinking and talking until nearly dawn. He moved over to the bed and stretched out, bending one arm under his head, his eyes staring at the ceiling.

Even a year ago he could not have imagined a night like last night. In the company of an interesting and beautiful woman, sharing bottles of excellent wine, reminiscing over their Deep Road exploits, or listening to Hawke's stories of her childhood in Ferelden. That level of intimacy with another person was not something in his experience. Nothing about Hawke was in his experience. He'd been content just watching her expressive face, laughing when she got her words wrong from too much wine, hypnotized by the way the candlelight played on her face, her throat. He was very much afraid she was becoming a vulnerability in his life, just by her very presence. He enjoyed everything about her, and found himself always wanting to be with her, to be near her. He could not afford to allow himself to want anything so much that it would get in the way of his hard won freedom. Yet contrary to that feeling, there was a sense of being safe with her. For the first time in his memory he had someone willing to fight with him, for him. It was a paradox he could not unravel.

He remembered the feel of her small hand in his as he helped her to her feet. It had… affected him. Without warning, he had felt heat traveling along his lyrium markings, beginning in his hand where her fingers had touched his, and spreading rapidly up his arm. He'd severed the contact before it could go further. How could a simple touch of the hand do such a thing?

It didn't matter. He should not be thinking of Hawke at all. She was everything he was not, and even if Danarius were dead, he would still remain a broken man, a former slave; a man without a past. Not fit for someone as bright and vivacious as Hawke. Not fit for anything more than a hired sword. At least he had that to offer her.

His last thought before he fell asleep was of how the wine had stained her lips a deep violet, and how much he wanted to taste them.

* * *

Hawke lay in her narrow bed, stomach queasy and head pounding to the point where she could not fall asleep. Thankfully, the Hanged Man was relatively quiet this afternoon, and there was only the occasional burst of laughter coming from the common room downstairs. She was trying to remember what other ways she might have embarrassed herself last night. Had she really told him the story of the time she's been swimming and Carver had stolen her clothes? And of then trying to make her way back home with nothing but a leafy branch for protection? Maker, she was pretty sure she had.

Hawke groaned.

She spent a long time trying to convince herself that it didn't matter. That whatever private opinion Fenris had of her, he would continue to fight by her side. She knew he admired her skill in a fight, knew he respected her leadership. He knew that she'd stick with him until Danarius was dead. She groaned again.

It did matter. She wanted him to _like_ her, wanted him to think she was pretty and alluring, and… and she wanted him to want her they way she'd begun to want him. Hawke blamed it on the dreams – dreams of soft touches and deep kisses and, well, other things. She had thought she was making headway, lately. He seemed more comfortable around her since their return from the Deep Roads, but perhaps that was just the familiarity that can come from close encounters with death over an extended period of time.

All of this thinking was making her head hurt worse. She sighed, and eventually fell into a troubled sleep. Her dreams were vivid as usual, and she spent the next few hours searching a maze of caverns for a missing Fenris.

* * *

When Hawke awoke several hours later, she felt like a new woman. Her headache was completely gone, and not only wasn't she nauseous, she was ravenously hungry. She laughed at herself, her good humor restored. She had vomited in front of Fenris, huddled on his floor in her bare feet. She giggled. It gave her charm, it did. She had learned that from her father – if you make a mistake, embarrass yourself, or stumble and fall, just act like that's exactly what you meant to do. Make the situation _yours_.

Maker knew she had stumbled and fallen enough to have learned the hard way. After all, what was a little vomit between friends?

She glanced in the mirror and ruffled her hair. Her mother continually tried to convince her to let it grow out, but she preferred the short, careless style. She stuck her tongue out at her reflection. "Don't take yourself too seriously, Mari," she told her reflection. "It can lead to terrible things, like arrogance, pompousness, wrinkles…"

She opened the door and there stood Varric.

"Talking to yourself, Hawke?" he asked.

"Listening at my door, Varric?" she countered.

"I was just coming to check on you, I haven't seen you all day," Varric said, following Hawke around the corner into his rooms. "Or last night for that matter."

"So, what's the stew like today?" Hawke asked as she sat at the table.

"Hawke changes the subject."

"Hmmm," she said, examining her nails.

"It's a little heavy on the potatoes, but edible enough," Varric replied. "About last night…"

"What's the mystery meat?"

"My best guess would be mutton," he said before trying again. "So where were you?"

"Have you and Isabela been placing bets again?" Hawke asked, eyes narrowed.

Varric laughed. "Not on this one, but it's been known to happen."

"Story fodder then?" She looked up when Norah came in with a pint for Varric. "Stew please."

"Aye, love," Norah replied, and trudged back down the stairs.

"Everything is story fodder, Hawke," Varric replied. "Truthfully, since you live here now, well, somebody should look out for you."

"Varric! How sweet," she said and smiled at him. "And because you told me the truth, I'll do the same. I was in Hightown, at Fenris' Mansion, getting drunk and vomiting."

"Well now, there's a story," said Varric in an interested tone.

"Yes," Hawke sighed. "A humiliating story filled with Aggreggio and vomit. How enchanting."

"So, what else did you two… do?" Varric prodded.

She really had to get this blushing thing under control, especially around Varric. Now no matter what she said, he would draw his own conclusions. "I got drunk, I threw up. Isn't that interesting enough?"

Norah plopped a bowl of stew in front of Hawke, who picked up the spoon and said, "Here goes," in a doubtful tone. She sampled the stew. "I think it's rabbit, not mutton. I've had rabbit before and it tastes like this." She made a face.

"Varric always says its Mutton," Isabela said, entering the room.

"Rivaini!" Varric said. "Guess what our lovely leader's been up to?"

"Does it involve a certain tall elf and the removal of clothing?" asked Isabela as she sashayed over to the table.

"Just boots," said Hawk, deadpan.

"Mmmmm… a foot fetish is it?" Isabela purred.

"No, just sore feet," Hawke replied airily.

"You left out the vomit, Hawke," said Varric.

"You threw up in your boots?" asked Isabela. "Strange foreplay, don't you think?"

Hawke stood up. "You know, I think I'll leave you two to work this story out on your own."

Isabela turned to Varric. "The foot fetish thing is a good place to start."

Varric chuckled, "Good a place as any."

* * *

Hawke was out the door and into the street before she realized she didn't know where she was going. Having slept the day away, she felt rested and alert and ready to get into some trouble. Or at least her own version of trouble, which usually meant killing demons, raiders, slavers – she had a whole list. She briefly considered going back to the Hanged Man to recruit Varric and Isabela for some nighttime street cleaning, but decided against it. She thought she had done well enough fielding their curiosity, but didn't quite feel up to more of the same. It had been a few days since she'd seen Merrill, and Aveline always enjoyed taking out various thugs and street gangs. Right, off to the alienage, then Hightown.

"Hawke," Merrill said as she opened the door for Hawke to enter, "Did I forget something? Were we supposed to meet and go kill things?"

Hawke laughed. "You didn't forget anything Merrill, but I came to find out if you'd like to come along on patrol tonight. I thought we'd clean up Hightown."

"Oh yes," Merrill replied happily, "should I bring a broom then?"

"A what?" asked Hawke, confused.

"Hightown isn't as dirty as the alienage, but if we're going to clean it, a broom might be useful," Merrill said seriously.

"Oh Merrill." Hawke laughed. "Bring your staff, that will be much more useful."

"Alright Hawke, but I've never used it for cleaning before. I don't think dirt burns very well."

* * *

Of course that would be Fenris walking down the long, stone steps to Lowtown as she and Merrill were walking up. Her stomach did a little dance as soon as she noticed the moonlight reflecting off his snowy hair. _Chin up_, she thought to herself_. Nothing to be ashamed of – if he laughs at you, laugh with him._

As they came within speaking distance she gave him her best smile and simply said, "Fenris."

"Hawke," he greeted her. "I am glad to see you are not out alone at night, but the company you keep may be just as dangerous." He glanced down his nose at Merrill.

"Nice to see you too, Fenris," Merrill said grumpily. Fenris was the only one who could quell her normally, overly cheerful disposition.

Fenris ignored her and turned back to Hawke. "You are feeling well?"

"Perfectly well," she replied. "In fact, we're going up to Hightown to see if we can rout out the newest threat to the nobility's peace and tranquility."

Merrill asked, "Oh, those people all dressed in black with the curved blades?"

"Those would be the ones," Hawke confirmed.

"May I offer my sword?" asked Fenris with a little extra growl in his voice, causing Hawke to shiver.

"Are you cold, Hawke?" asked Merrill. "You really should get some armor with sleeves."

Hawke shook her head, chuckling. "Sword accepted. Let's go." She breathed a sigh of relief that there didn't seem to be any residual awkwardness after last night. Instead, there was merely an inquiry after her health, another warning about Merrill, and the offer of his sword. Of course, he hadn't yet been subjected to Varric and Isabela. _Foot fetish indeed_, she thought. Which led to thoughts of Fenris kissing her toes. Caressing them. Sucking them. She glanced over at him, irrationally afraid he could read her thoughts.

He looked back. "Something wrong, Hawke?" he asked. "You look a bit flushed."

"No, I'm fine," she replied, if a little breathlessly. "Merrill's right, I should look into armor with sleeves.

"But if you're flushed, wouldn't that mean you were hot?" asked Merrill innocently.

Hawke quickened her pace. "Come on, let's find Aveline."

* * *

A month passed, then two, with a meager trickle of jobs coming their way. Hawke's _flock_, as the Lowtown residents had taken to calling Hawke and her friends, made the streets safe in Hightown, Lowtown and even the Docks. The only places they could find a fight anymore seemed to be in Darktown or out on the coast, where Raiders were ever present. It wasn't as if she needed the money, as Varric had steadily sold most of the Deep Road's treasure, and was now looking for buyers for a few of the more valuable pieces.

She was in waiting mode. Waiting for Varric, waiting for the Viscount to approve the Amell's claim to their estate, waiting for better jobs.

So it was an unusually grumpy Hawke that flopped down into her usual chair in Varric's office.

Varric looked up from the letter he was writing, took one look at her dour face and said, "Cheer up, Hawke."

"Hmfph," Hawke grunted. "Unless that letter you're writing involves something better than escorting another little _miss frumpy pants_ home from her evening social, I will not _cheer up_." Too many of their jobs lately had been as mere bodyguards for Kirkwall's wealthier citizens. Lately, she'd been turning them down she'd become so disgusted.

"Well, milady," Varric replied, giving her a wink, "you are in luck, and must now cheer up."

"Really?" Hawke sat up in her chair. "It's something worth doing?"

"_Worth_ being the operative word." Varric moved over to his elaborately locked chest and began to fiddle with keys. "Do you remember that gold wrist cuff I was having trouble finding a buyer for?" He opened the chest and began sorting through the items.

"The one with all the shiny jewels?" asked Hawke, "And the exquisite runecrafting?"

"That would be the one," Varric said as he found what he had been looking for and came back to the table. "_This_ would be the one." He opened the gold-plated box, revealing the wrist cuff in question.

Hawke gingerly picked up the wide wristband. Gems the size of grapes adorned it – diamond, emerald, ruby and sapphire. "It must be worth a small fortune." Hawke glanced at Varric. "Did you find a buyer?"

"Maybe," Varric hedged. "It's… complicated."

"Hmm, when you say _complicated,_ I hear _life-threatening_." She replaced the piece into its velvet-lined case.

"Hear me out, Hawke. There's a wealthy noble, a certain Messere Torag, apparently related to the Lord Chancellor of Tantervale..."

"Just get to the life-threatening part, Varric," Hawke suggested with a sigh.

"He wants to see it before he buys it."

"So let him see it, what's the problem?"

"His estate is on some lake, outside of Wildervale."

"And?"

"He wants us to bring it to him," Varric said really fast, his head down, as if he were speaking to his chest hair.

"What? That's at least a week's travel!" She glanced at the golden, shining band again. "Just how much will he pay?"

The gleam in Varric's eye was pure avarice. "Fifty-thousand sovereigns."

Stunned, Hawke tried to speak, "Fif…fifty…"

"So, want to take a little trip with me, Hawke?" Varric asked with a broad smile, already knowing the answer.

* * *

Hawke left Varric to take care of the organizational details, while her job was to gather the team. Without conscious thought, she found herself walking up the steps to Hightown Estates. She shook her head and laughed. Of course she would ask Fenris first. What else would she do? It probably wasn't smart, or reasonable, or even healthy – but she found every excuse she could to spend as much time with him as possible. Two weeks on the road? It didn't sound so bad when Fenris was included.

Impulsively, she went into stealth mode as she entered the elf's dilapidated mansion. It was just one of those quirky things about Hawke – she followed the little inspirations that popped into her head, urging her to do seemingly random things, and yet the results were always… interesting. This time was no different. She moved through the shadows, footfalls as soft as a whisper, and slid up the stairway and into the threshold of his room.

The sight that greeted her froze her in place. There was Fenris, his back to her, sans shirt, in only his leather greaves, bending over a basin pouring water from a pitcher over his hair.

It was a breathtaking sight.

She traced the curls of lyrium with her eyes – the patterns on his back were complex and beautiful. How could something done in such cruelty be beautiful? He was thin, not an ounce of spare flesh on his bones. Sinuous muscles rippled across his back as he lifted the pitcher and her mouth went dry. _Oh Maker!_ Perhaps she made a small sound, or a slight movement – but suddenly Fenris turned, and in one lightening movement he was facing her, his sword in hand, wet hair dripping into his face, his markings glowing blue-white.

"Oops," Hawke said.

"Hawke," Fenris said, and Hawke could not read the tone in his voice.

He stood very still for a moment, perhaps deciding how to handle the situation. Would he hurriedly cover himself? Would he stalk toward her and shout in anger? Or maybe rip her heart from her chest? She hoped not, being rather fond of where her heart currently resided, even though at present it was pounding fast and furious like it was _trying_ to escape. Hawke remained still, waiting for him. Fenris did none of those things. Slowly, he set his sword down, picked up a towel and began drying his hair. There was a challenge in his eyes and in his voice when he asked her, "What are you doing here?"

He was challenging her? Wait, he was _challenging_ her! Would she look at him in pity, in disgust or revulsion? Would she look away, talk about the weather and ignore his state of undress? Or would she simply beat a hasty retreat? Another little impulse took her, and she knew exactly what to do.

Moments ago, she had thought him beautiful. She allowed that appreciation to shine in her eyes and a small smile to play upon her lips as she walked toward him. Purposefully, she perused his chest, following the markings to the waist of his greaves, just below his navel. But her gaze did not linger. Instead she met his eyes, which had transformed from challenging to wary as she approached him. She stopped perhaps a foot away from him, keeping her hands carefully at her sides (oh how she long to reach out to him) and said, "I came to discuss business."

"B-business?" he questioned lowering the towel from his head.

Maker, he was cute when he stuttered. His voice had dropped an octave, which caused her stomach to flutter deliciously. "A job," she began, "actually a trip that includes a delivery, and hopefully a payment." She allowed her smile to widen. "A very large payment, if all goes well."

"And you want me to?" he asked, still watching her carefully.

"Come with me, of course," Hawke replied. She moved as if she had choreographed it, dropping lightly onto the bench by the table. "If you will."

"I will," he said without hesitation, as he sat down on the bench. Not very near to her, but near enough that Hawke started to feel her light and airy attitude slip away. He was just so… so… _Fenris_. This wanting was beginning to feel like a need, a need that seemed alive in her very bones. She squirmed on the bench.

"What does this trip entail?" he asked, absently folding the damp towel in his hands.

She tried to answer him, she really did. She did her best to pretend she wasn't affected by the tiny rivulets of water that ran down his pectorals and across the flat plane of his stomach. She tried to imagine him clothed in his spikey, forbidding armor. Why did he smell of deep earth and cold rain and a wind from the sea when he was so rarely outside? _Maker_. She'd thought she could pull this off, but her own visceral reaction to him had betrayed her. So she sighed, and she said, "Um, Fenris. Do you think maybe you could put a shirt on or something?" in a strained voice. The urge to touch him, and not just with her hands – oh no, her lips had a few ideas, too – was growing into an overwhelming need.

His brow darkened and his mouth sneered, "Of course," he rose quickly from the bench, "I did not mean to disgust you."

He started to walk away, and on reflex Hawke grabbed his wrist. His markings began to glow faintly, but she did not let go. "You mistake me, Fenris. It's not disgust." She just knew her cheeks were burning now. "Quite the opposite, in fact." She kept her eyes on her hand, his wrist.

"Do not play games, Hawke." He had stopped moving, but his markings still softly glowed and he was definitely glowering. He pulled his wrist from her grasp.

"Alright, I'll define the opposite of _disgust_ for you," she said, her own frustration rising and translating as anger. "Admire, respect, esteem…" she counted the words off on her fingers, then hesitated for a moment and chanced a look at him. "Desire," she finished.

Fenris closed his eyes and the last of the light from his markings faded.

"Tell me, Fenris," she continued, no longer irritated. Hawke's temperament was best described as mercurial; sudden shifts in her mood were common. "Does it hurt when I touch you?"

"Why do you ask?" he asked quietly. His anger seemed to have faded with the light on his skin. Perhaps Fenris was a bit mercurial, too. _That was an understatement_, she thought. How often had she watched his expression transform for rage to sorrow in the blink of an eye?

"When I touch you, you always pull away from me. It is pain? Or just me?" She wanted to know, didn't she? Of course she did, but if he told her it was because he didn't want her to touch him, specifically _her_… no, she didn't want to hear _that_ and it was too late to retract the question.

"It is not pain," he said, still not looking at her. "Your touch sparks a warmth, which spreads through the lines of lyrium under my flesh. It is… different. I am unused to it."

"And that happens when anyone touches you?" _Tread carefully, Hawke_, she thought.

"I do not know," his voice was almost a whisper. "I have only been touched by those who deliberately set out to cause pain."

First her heart broke. Then her temper rose. Then her heart broke some more. Once more, Hawke followed her instincts. When her hand lifted to reach for his, she did not halt it. Gently she grasped just the tips of his fingers and lightly tugged. "Sit back down, Fenris. Please."

He did, and she released the breath she hadn't known she was holding. Carefully she arranged his hand so that it lay cupped in hers. With the fingers of her other hand, she softly traced them over his palm in delicate circular patterns. She drifted up each of his long fingers, across the pads, down into the valleys between them. Fenris did not resist, and eventually turned his head to watch her ministrations.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked hoarsely.

She smiled, though her expression was sad. "You deserve to know what it's like to be touched in kindness, Fenris, with… affection."

"Why would I deserve such a thing?" His whispered words were so low, she could barely make them out.

She continued the butterfly touches on his hand, taking her time before answering, "There is no _why_, you just do."

His hand moved then. He turned it over and slid his fingers through hers. They sat like that for quite awhile, eventually discussing plans for the trip, talking about who should come along, what provisions they might need, holding hands the whole time.

Holding hands with a shirtless Fenris. Who would have ever thought it? One thing had irrevocably changed, however. It was true that Fenris had escaped Danarius and was living a free life, making his own choices and deciding his own fate. Yet Hawke remembered what Flemmeth had said to him on Sundermount, "The chains are broken, but are you truly free?"

There would be no dallying with Fenris. If he meant something to her, if she could possibly ever mean anything to him, she would have to make a commitment to see it through, _no matter what_. If she gave him her heart, there would be no taking it back. Hawke knew this whole line of thinking was dangerous, and she did not intend to jump into anything. She would take it slowly, allow him to get used to her touch and her friendship. Considering his past, it could take a very long time. But, if her feelings were genuine, that wouldn't matter. If what she now felt for him were to ever evolve into love - and considering how she already felt, she thought that highly possible - that would be worth, well, everything.

When at last she left him, he seemed calm, relaxed.

Hawke's hand, however, tingled for hours afterward.


	4. Chapter 3

"Hawke! Good news!" Varric said as soon as she walked through the door. "Remember those two dwarves, Bodahn and Sandal? They've agreed to come with us, handle the supplies and provisions."

"Well done, Varric," Hawke replied.

"It's not because of me," he said. "Bodahn thinks he owes you some kind of debt for saving his boy in the Deep Roads."

Hawke squinted down at the dwarf. "We will pay them Varric."

"Of course we will," Varric said with a chuckle. "So, who's coming along on this little adventure?"

"Fenris has agreed."

"And?"

"I haven't asked anyone else yet." Hawke sighed and slumped into a chair.

"We really only need one more person," Varric said, studying Hawke carefully. "Shouldn't we have a healer?"

"We should, but…"

"You don't want to listen to Broody and Blondie bicker for two weeks?" Good, he got a grin out of her.

"I could put up with that," she replied. "More serious is how those poor people in Darktown suffered while he was in the Deep Roads. He's really all they have."

"Hmm, in that case maybe I should order a couple of extra cases of elfroot potions."

Hawke nodded, "Maybe you should." She sat staring down at her hands before continuing, "Aveline is out, so that only leaves Isabela or Merrill," Hawke said. "If only Merrill would learn a healing spell or two the choice would be obvious."

"I suppose we could take them both," Varric ventured. "I mean, Daisy's a tiny little thing. Doesn't take up much room or eat much."

"Why don't you decide? I'm going to Uncle Gamlen's to let Mother know." Hawke rose and was gone, leaving Varric puzzled. _Maybe she's been hanging out with the elf too much_, he thought, _because if that wasn't brooding then I'm a darkspawn._

* * *

Several miles outside of Kirkwall, they were attacked by Tal'Vashoth. The only reason they weren't ambushed was because Hawke and Isabela took turns scouting the road ahead.

"Big-horned guys up ahead," Isabela told Hawke, "Ten, maybe twelve, right around that bend."

They left Isabela guarding the wagon while the rest of the party went ahead to take up the fight. At first it was a typical battle; lots of spear throwing by the Tal'Vashoth – they certainly loved their spears. Hawke was just coming up behind the leader, who was fighting sword to sword with Fenris, when two things happened at once.

The great grey giant fell to the ground as Fenris landed the killing blow, while at the same time Hawke's scalp began to tingle wildly. She heard Fenris shout, "Be wary!" And… she was in the air. She attempted to prepare herself for landing, but it was like trying to stand up in a hurricane - she therefore landed face down.

Hawke lay stunned for a moment, trying to catch her breath, before saying, "Ouch." She lifted her head as her eyes began to refocus. Pointy breastplate. She looked higher. Pointy pauldrons. Finally she lifted her head all the way. Pointy ears. "Why Fenris," she said. "Where did you come from?" And she grinned at him.

Fenris choked out, " Saarebas."

She looked over her shoulder just in time to see Merrill paralyze the Tal'Vashoth mage, while Isabela appeared out of nowhere, bringing both of her daggers down into his back.

"Saarebas all gone," said Hawke with a giggle.

Fenris looked at her with concern. "Did you hit your head, Hawke?"

She was still lying on top of him. "You know, Fenris, as much as I like this position," and she gave him a saucy grin, "it would be much nicer without all the spikey bits."

Their faces were only inches apart, and for a moment Hawke thought he might kiss her, so sultry was his expression. "Perhaps we should try it sometime," he said in a low growl.

Hawke stared at him with wide eyes. Was she dreaming? It was the first time he'd ever spoken to her in such a sexy, flirty manner. Well, if it was a dream, she might as well enjoy it. Her grin returned, but this time it was wicked. "Be careful, elf. I _will_ take you up on that."

"If you two are done making out in the dirt, we have bodies to move or we'll never get the wagon through," Isabela called. "Unless you'd like some company, then forget the bodies," she purred, and began to walk toward them.

Not a dream, then.

Fenris opened his mouth to object, but Hawke placed two fingers over his lips. "Don't even bother," she whispered. "It will just encourage her." She winked at him and got to her feet.

* * *

"Qunari are heavy," complained Merrill, rubbing at her arms.

"Tal'Vashoth," said Hawke and Fenris at the same time.

"But they all look the same, don't they? Big horns, gray skin, scowly faces."

Isabela approached them holding something in her palm. She held it out for Fenris to see. "Are these what I think they are?" she asked.

Fenris glanced down. "Tevinter Sovereigns," he said, and his voice was puzzled.

"What would _Qunari_ be doing with Tevinter Sovereigns?" asked Varric.

"Are they doing it on purpose?" Hawke asked Fenris. She knew full well Varric knew the difference between Qunari and Tal'Vashoth.

"I refuse to correct them anymore, unless our lives depend upon it," he replied.

Hawke smiled at Fenris and turned to Varric. "How well did you check up on this Tarog person?"

"He seemed to be legitimate. Even the Carta didn't have any dirt on the guy."

"Tal'Vashoth are not sell-swords," said Fenris.

"Except for that one that _was_," Hawke replied. "You know, the one that warned us about the ambush last year?"

"Maybe he has friends now," offered Isabela.

Hawke lifted one of the gold coins and examined it. "I don't like this."

"Maker, I hate it when you say that," Varric said with a sigh.

She thought for a moment before turning to Fenris. "I… Fenris, I need to ask you something."

"Ask," he replied.

"Promise me you won't glow."

His lips quirked. "I promise not to glow."

"How much," she began, "How many Tevinter Sovereigns are you worth?"

"What do you mean how many Tevinter Sovereigns am I worth?" No glowing, but an impressive scowl.

"Say Danarius had tried to sell you…" She hated to remind him that at one time he was nothing more than a possession to be bought and sold. But, this was important. Dots were connecting in her head and she wanted to see if they made a pattern.

"He would not." Fenris was sure.

"Let me put it this way, how much would he be willing to pay someone else _for_ you?"

"How could that possibly matter?" he asked with a sneer.

"Oh, I don't know," Hawke said, keeping her tone light. "Just imagine that someone lures someone else to a remote place by offering to pay 50,000 sovereigns for a rare piece of jewelry. And what if said luring-person could stand to make a lot more than that by capturing you himself."

Varric's shook his head. "You don't think…"

"How many slavers have we killed in the past year?" Hawke asked rhetorically. "The last group even had a note from Danarius about Fenris."

"Much more than 50,000 sovereigns, I'd guess," Fenris said finally.

"I've been robbing the wrong people," said Isabela. "Magisters have that kind of coin?"

"It is not funny, Isabela," Fenris growled. "Even a low level Magister could squash you like a bug, with just a wave of his hand."

Isabela rolled her eyes and returned to looting corpses.

Hawke also walked away, and with her back to the group she looked up at the sky, her body still.

"And that my friends," said Varric nodding to Hawke, "Is what makes a hero."

"I don't understand," said Merrill as she studied Hawke's back.

"She's listening," Varric replied enigmatically.

"I don't hear anything but flies buzzing around the Qunari corpses," Merrill said looking around her.

Fenris bit his lip.

"She's listening to herself," said Varric.

"Oh! I can't hear her talking, what's she saying?" Merrill asked excitedly.

Varric chuckled, "Don't worry, Daisy. In a few minutes Hawke will tell us herself."

And, a few minutes later she rejoined the group gathered around the wagon.

"I want to keep going," she said, and turned to Fenris. "However, this decision is yours, Fenris."

"Mine?" he asked, confused.

"You have the most at stake here. You're the one Danarius wants, and he seems to be hiring everyone in Thedas to do the job, if those coins are any indication." She paused and stepped directly in front of him. "You decide whether we go on or return to Kirkwall."

The elf looked at the road ahead, then back at the road the way they had come. He looked at each of his companions, lastly at Hawke. She met his gaze, her eyes clear and without judgment. "If everyone else agrees, we should go on. I've already chosen my path. I will run and hide no longer."

"Anyone object?" Hawke asked.

No one did.

"Good," Hawke nodded. "You know, if the Tal'Vashoth, the Tevinter coins, Danarius and this Tolag person _are_ connected, they're doing a poor job of it."

"How's that?" asked Varric.

"They've put us on our guard, and have given us clues – that's not how I would handle an enemy," she replied.

Varric laughed and patted Hawke on the back.

"What?" She smiled down at the Dwarf.

"I'm just glad I met you, Hawke. You keep life interesting."

"Well, I'm glad I met you too Varric, despite the fact your brother tried to kill us."

"Yeah, well, there is that," he said shaking his head.

* * *

The road wound through a grassy field for many miles ahead, before entering the forest at the foot of the mountains. They decided to make camp at the forest edge that night, and make the climb up the pass in the morning.

"The way the wind is blowing the grass, it almost looks like the sea," said Isabela wistfully.

The blowing wind was dry, and the sun beat down upon them relentlessly. It was a long, dull afternoon. So it was with glad hearts that upon entering the forest, they came upon a cold, swiftly running stream winding through the trees parallel to the mountain range. They set camp in a clearing not far from the road, happy for the shade and the relief from the heat.

As the others were busy setting camp, Hawke walked along the stream, looking for a good spot to soak her feet. Why she hadn't bought new boots was beyond her. She just never seemed to get around to it, and after today she was sure to have blisters. Soon she spotted a half submerged, dead tree straddling the stream like a bridge. Leaving her boots on the bank, she climbed onto the tree and allowed the cold, rushing water to soothe her aching feet.

As the sun began to set, its rays came peeking through the canopy of the woods, setting the stream alight with sparkling bits of yellow and gold. The peace of the scene soothed her jangle nerves and eased her weariness. She breathed deeply and released the tense muscles in her neck and shoulders. It had not been an auspicious beginning to the day, but if this was the reward, she'd take it. Not since her life in Ferelden had she taken the time to sit in the quiet of the woods and just _be_.

This was how Fenris found her. He stood watching as golden light and shadows danced over the smooth skin of her face in leafy patterns. "Hawke," he called.

"Fenris," she said and smiled. "Join me, it's wonderful." She splashed her feet about to tempt him.

He slid onto the log beside her, having no boots to remove. "It does feel refreshing," he said.

"Hmm," Hawke agreed, lazily swirled her feet through the water. "It is lovely."

"Yes, it is," Fenris agreed, his voice a low growl.

Hawke turned her head to smile at him and saw that he was looking at her, not at the scene of natural beauty around them. "Well then," she whispered softly.

Fenris looked uncomfortable, but also as if he wanted to ask her something. He kept glancing up at her, his lips parting as if to speak, before pressing them closed again.

"What is it, Fenris?" she asked.

He took a long moment to respond. "What is this between us, Hawke?" he asked gruffly. "I would know."

"What do you think it is?" she asked in turn.

"I have no experience from which to judge," he said lowering his gaze.

"And I have less than you probably think," she said easily.

They sat quietly as the sunlight faded and a fat, orange moon rose in the east.

"Would you like to try something?" she finally asked, her voice softer than the breeze.

"Try something?" He sounded hesitant, as if he were afraid of what she might require of him.

"Yes." She turned toward him, moving slowly, carefully, bringing her face close to his; watching as his eyes darkened. With a feather touch, she slid her lips across his, before retreating a few inches to measure his reaction. His gaze dropped from her eyes to her mouth, and then Fenris was pressing his lips lightly to hers, gliding them back and forth like the promise of a breeze. Hawke felt each caress flutter down her spine, and on down the length of her legs, like she sometimes felt when she sipped a fine wine. She wanted to taste him, but suppressed the urge and allowed Fenris to lead the dance.

She gasped when he gently grazed her lower lip with his teeth.

He pulled back. "I'm… I'm sorry," he said turning away from her.

Hawke reached up and cupped his jaw, turning his face back to her. "Pleasure, not pain, Fenris," she said against his lips and resumed the kiss. A bit more pressure, a longer lingering at the corner of his mouth - her hands on his face caressed his cheeks, then slipped into his hair. When her lips opened to him, Fenris' tongue slipped into her mouth and gently slid around and over hers. He was… he tasted… _oh my._

This first kiss was going very well indeed.

Until –

"Hawke!" It was Varric, and there was suddenly a trampling through the woods as loud as any herd of Halla.

Hawke lifted her mouth from his with a heavy sigh. Their eyes met and the expression in his nearly undid her.

It was with some resolve that she said, "Duty calls," and she found a rueful smile for him. "Another time, perhaps?" she asked, as she lightly ran a finger down his cheek.

A low, rumbling,"Yes," was his only reply.

She slipped from the log into the water and back to the stream's edge, where she began to pull on her boots. She hoped Fenris didn't notice that her hands were shaking. Shaking from a simple kiss - a very short, simple kiss. _Maker_.

"There you are," Varric said as he appeared, carrying a lantern.

"Is there food?" asked Hawke. "I'm starving."

Varric looked from the elf to the human and back again. They ignored him and began walking back toward camp. Varric shook his head and wondered if he could convince Isabella to increase their bet. His money was on the elf, and he was feeling very sanguine at the moment.

* * *

The pass through the mountains certainly wasn't easy, but they made the trip the next day without incident. A stream ran alongside the mountain road and joined many others that flowed down from the heights. The streams joined together to form a broad river and descended to the plains, which stretched out before them as far as they could see. The land was dry, mostly high grasses and scrub; the only other vegetation was along the banks of the river itself. There grew copses of trees, flowering plants and low, bushy shrubs. The area was alive with the sounds of birds, and Hawke watched as a blue heron rose from the water, flapping its great wings. Fortunately, the road ran due north, following the track of the river. Water would not be a problem.

She squinted at the lowering sun, before saying, "Best to make camp while we still have light."

Soon they had everything set up on the edge of a copse of Aspen, their leaves shaking and quivering in the cool breeze drafting down from the mountains. Hawke could hear the sound of the river flowing some yards away, on the other side of the trees. Her feet needed soaking again. The rest of her wouldn't mind, either.

"Who's coming?" she asked walking toward the sound of flowing water.

Fenris and Varric stayed behind on guard, while Bodahn set about starting a fire and preparing the meal. The women went down to the river's edge, where they found a grassy bank dotted with sweet smelling wildflowers.

"It's just us girls," said Isabela with a grin. "Time for a bath."

They began to strip off armor and clothing until the three stood in their small clothes, eyeing the river with some trepidation.

"How cold is it?" Hawke asked, wanting to be clean without getting a serious case of the chills.

Isabela walk over and stuck her toe in. "It'll do."

Hawke walked in up to her ankles and immediately retreated. "Do for what? Maker, that's cold!"

Isabela laughed. "Do for cleaning our dirty hides," she winked at Hawke and casually strolled into the water, where she began to wash away the dirt and grime of travel. "You'll get used to it," she laughed.

"I'm not very good with water, Hawke," Merrill said in a small voice.

Hawke held out her hand, "Come on, I'll keep hold of you."

"You're so kind," Merrill said smiling up at her. "I tend to float away. I'm not sure why."

"Probably because you're as light as a summer breeze," Hawke teased.

"Breezes can't float away – they're in the air where they belong, always moving around," Merrill said seriously, waving her hand.

Hawke chuckled as they entered the water, shivering all the way.

Fenris seemed unable to stop himself; he kept glancing through the trees toward the river. He couldn't see the women, but could hear the occasional laughter or word of conversation.

"They'll be fine, elf," Varric said coming up to stand next to him.

Fenris scowled down at him. "I am not worried, if that is what you imply."

"Oh," said Varric, "trying to sneak a peek, then?" And he craned his neck, trying to see through the trees. "No good - can't see a thing."

Fenris just scowled harder.

"So, elf," Varric began.

"What is it?" Fenris asked in clipped tones.

"I've noticed you're spending a lot of time with our fearless leader, lately."

Fenris narrowed his eyes at the dwarf and drawled, "So are _you_."

"True," Varric agreed, and scratched his scruffy chin. "The difference is you're spending time _alone_ with her."

"What of it?" he practically barked. He wanted this conversation to end.

"Just wondering if… you know."

"No. I do not _know_."

Before Varric had the chance to needle him further, there was a scream followed by a loud splash.

Fenris didn't think, he moved like a scythe through the trees, before Varric even had time to turn all the way around. He arrived just in time to see the top of Hawke's head emerge from the water, followed by the rest of her - a practically naked rest of her. She looked around, gasping for air. Isabela laughed and Hawke turned toward her.

"That wasn't very nice, Isabela," said Merrill from the bank where she sat on the grass watching, then ruined the censure with a giggle.

Fenris stood paralyzed. He watched as Hawke dove at Isabela, and knocked her over and submerging them both. He found he could not breathe until Hawke resurfaced, coughing and laughing at the same time. He stood transfixed – by the curve of her hip as she moved through the water, the swell of her breasts rising and falling as she tried to catch her breath. She was breathtaking – beautiful – a river goddess come to life. When the sun slipped from behind a passing cloud, Hawke's wet skin began to sparkle as if she were covered in tiny diamonds. When she lifted her arms to splash Isabela, his need to wade into the river and take Hawke up on her offer of _another time_ nearly overwhelmed him.

"Hmm," Varric said from beside him. "Nice view."

That broke the spell. Fenris grabbed Varric by the shoulder and marched him back to the campsite.

"What?" asked Varric, sounding wounded.

"_Venhedis_," growled Venris.

"You have to admit…"

"Not one more word, dwarf," Fenris said releasing him.

Other than the occasional bandits in twos and threes, they traveled north for the next few days without any serious problems. Their pace was comfortable, and they passed the days in easy camaraderie, and the nights listening to Varric tells stories, or playing Wicked Grace. The levels of cheating became outrageous, even for Varric.

"I saw where you put that card, Rivaini," Varric accused.

"What card?" Isabela asked innocently.

"Hmph, you know what card, _and_ where you put it."

"Prove it," she responded with a sly grin. "Retrieve this so-called _card_."

"Oh no, I'm not going there," he replied with a shake of his head.

Hawke laughed. She had seen it, too. Isabela had slipped a card high up between her thighs.

"Anyone else?" Isabela taunted the group. "I didn't think so."

Isabela won splendidly that night.

On their fifth night out from Kirkwall, Varric pulled out his map as they sat around the campfire. "Looks like we'll be there tomorrow afternoon," he said.

"It's been too quiet," said Hawke.

"I agree," replied Varric. "If this is a set-up…"

"Then tomorrow's the day," Hawke finished for him.

"I don't understand," said Merrill. "Isn't quiet good? We didn't want to be attacked, did we?

"Think of it this way, Kitten," said Isabela. "There's that moment on the open sea, right before a storm hits, when everything is calm and quiet, but the air is charged and you can feel something big is coming. That's what this is like."

"So it will storm tomorrow?" Merrill asked.

"Yes," Fenris offered. "Most likely a storm of Tevinter slave hunters."

"I'm feeling that, too," Hawke said. "Let's set watch and get some sleep."

"Uh oh," said Sandal from the bench seat of the wagon.

"Whoa, that's a lot of soldiers," said Isabela dreamily. It disturbed Hawke that she sounded more intrigued than wary. But that was Isabela.

"Tevinter hunters," spat Fenris.

They watched as three men left the group and walked toward them.

"I bet the one in the middle is the leader," said Merrill. "He's the shiniest."

It might have been amusing if the situation weren't so serious.

"I'm going to talk to them," said Hawke, stepping forward. "Keep Bianca trained on the shiny one, Varric."

"Will do, Hawke."

"Be careful," said Fenris.

She did not go far, but instead waited within earshot of the wagon. When the men were perhaps 20 paces from where she stood, she lifted her hand and said, "Stop there."

The men halted their progress, but each stood with his hand on his weapon, ready to attack.

"I am Commander Vero," said the shiny one. "I claim the right of parlay."

"Agreed," Hawke replied with a slight nod of her head.

"This does not have to be a fight, Serah," said the Commander, a tall man with a dark beard and a nasty scar down his left cheek.

"Doesn't it?" asked Hawke.

"We have information that you are harboring a fugitive," he continued. "I am willing to pay good coin for his return."

"And just where did you get this information, I wonder?" Hawke asked neutrally.

The Commander smiled, revealing his teeth. One of his front incisors shone with gold. "You have a reputation Serah Hawke, which includes the company you keep." He paused for a moment, shaking his head. "Not wise."

"No, I've never been accused of being wise," she agreed.

"Turn over the slave and we will allow the rest of your party to depart unscathed," demanded Commander Vero.

"A slave, you say," Hawke challenged. "Odd, because we are all free people, traveling on business. You have no authority to waylay us."

"I grow impatient, Serah," the Commander replied through clenched teeth. "That elf, the male with the white hair and markings, is the property of a Tevinter magister. We will have him, with your leave or without it."

Hawke looked skyward as if pondering his words, tapping one finger lightly on her chin in classic Hawke mode. Then she looked at back at him and gave him her most winning smile. "No."

"Reconsider," Vero put his hand on the hilt of his sword. "You all need not die today."

"Oh, I agree," Hawke said cheekily. "We have no intention of doing so."

"So you will hand over the slave?"

_The man's arrogance!_ Thought Hawke. "This parlay is over. Leave or fight." She turned her back to him and returned to the wagon.

"You will _not_ live to regret this," Vero said to Hawke's back. He turned and began walking at a clipped pace toward the slaver camp.

"Isabela?" she asked Varric in a low voice.

"She's on it," Varric replied.

"Okay, quickly, Bodahn, Sandal make for that tree line and stay out of sight."

"Yes, Serah," Bodahn said. As Sandal passed her, he pressed something into her palm. "Boom," he said.

She smiled at the younger dwarf before turning to the others. "Now we wait for it."

"Wait for what?" asked Fenris.

"Our favorite pirate captain," Hawke winked at him.

They watched as Commander Vero and his guard returned to the main group. Within seconds several loud explosions rocked through the camp. Men flew through the air; there was screaming and shouting. Several wagons were on fire.

"Boom," said Hawke, and Varric laughed behind her.

Hawke used the extra time that Isabela's little terrorist attack had given them to explain her strategy. Thankfully Sandal had given her something to strategize with. If they'd had to take on all the slavers at once… she wouldn't think about it now. "I want everyone to stand your ground, - look ready for a fight. When they get close enough, I'm going to count to three. On three I want everyone to hit the ground."

"You're going to toss Sandal's _boom_ at them," said Varric.

"Yes."

"Isn't that risky?"

"Very. I'm worried about Isabela. What if she gets caught in the blast?"

"If I know our Rivaini, she'll be coming up behind them," he said with a frown.

"I'll aim for the vanguard, it's the best I can do - there's too many of them to fight at close range."

"Here they come," said Fenris.

Maybe forty soldiers were jogging towards them. Commander Vero was in the lead - good. They had left their wounded and dying back in the wreckage of their camp. The clink and thunk of their armor seemed ominously loud to Hawke as she stood judging the distance. Sandal's rune may not be a dagger, but she'd practiced throwing stones a lot growing up. She weighed the runestone in her palm, getting a feel for it, clearing her mind of all but the point on the road that was her target, while at the same time keeping one eye on the approach of the slavers.

"One," she said her voice low, her lips barely moving.

"Two," she inhaled deeply and narrowed her vision.

"Three!" she shouted.

Hawke heard her companions hit the ground, just as she took aim and let the runestone loose. The stone had barely left her hand when she felt an arm go around her waist and suddenly she was falling backward. "Umph," she grunted as she hit the ground, and was rolled by someone's arms and covered by a body. The explosion was deafening, causing her ears to ring, and was followed by a heated blast of wind that was strong enough to have knocked her down if she'd been standing. Isabela's grenades were child's toys compared to Sandal's runestone. There was the sound of debris raining down all around them. Seconds passed, and after the explosion it seemed eerily quiet. Suddenly Hawke was being lifted, and of course it was Fenris who had pulled her down and covered her body with his own.

She didn't stop to thank him; only nodded once and turned, drawing her daggers, ready to face any survivors. She called out, "Varric?"

"Right behind you, Hawke," replied Varric.

"Merrill?"

"What did you say?" asked Merrill from behind the wagon. "My ears are ringing."

Hawke laughed and was reminded again why tolerated Merrill's more dangerous magical habits. She was such a dear thing.

"Isabela?" she called, hoping against hope for a response.

"Right here, sweet thing," Isabela said, and appeared by her side, daggers drawn and ready to fight. "That was brilliant, by the way."

Hawke felt her heart leap that her friend was alive and standing beside her. She quickly turned and beamed at Isabela.

A group of about a dozen slavers had regrouped and were fast approaching. Hawke was glad to see Commander Vero was not among them.

"Let's go!" called Hawke.

Fenris zipped past her and mowed down the first four. They did not get back up. Lightning and arrows began to rain down on their enemies, while Fenris swung his long blade and Isabela and Hawke parried around and behind him. It was over within minutes.

"Well, that was too easy," complained Isabela.

Bodahn and Sandal arrived back at the wagon shortly thereafter.

"I think we'll have a party tonight," Hawke said as she wiped her daggers on a slaver corpse. "In honor of Sandal, our hero who saved the day." She smiled at him.

"Enchantment!" Sandal replied happily.


	5. Chapter 4

"It should be here," said Varric, scanning the area for any sign of the Torag estate. "You were right Hawke, this was a set-up, pure and simple."

"Perhaps the Carta never heard of the man because there _is_ no such man," Hawke suggested.

"Anything's possible," the dwarf muttered. "So, what do we do now?"

"We start back, and we don't stop until we are well past the slaver camp," Hawke said running a hand through her cropped hair. "When Vero's group doesn't report back, we may have more company."

"It's getting late," Varric said, "and that will mean traveling in the dark."

"Yes, well, we'll be doing a lot of that in the next few days, I imagine," she said wearily. "We should get back to Kirkwall as quickly as possible. We can rest after sunset and before moonrise, but otherwise we keep moving."

"I'm really sorry, Hawke. My information is always good. I don't know what happened here." Varric looked contrite.

"My guess would be the deep pockets of one magister from Tevinter," she replied easily.

"Looks like we're out the money, but don't worry, my friend, I will find a legitimate buyer for the wrist cuff, that's a promise."

Hawke nodded and walked over to Sandal and bent down on one knee before him. "I'm sorry Sandal, we'll have your party at the Hanged Man once we're back in Kirkwall."

"I like Hawke," said Sandal softly.

"I like you too, Sandal," Hawke replied with a smile.

* * *

For days the group set a grueling pace, only stopping for an hour or two during the twilight hours of dawn and dusk. Fortunately, they did not encounter more slavers, just the usual highwaymen, and once a rather large nest of spiders. When they finally reached the Vimmark Mountains, it was nearing evening and Hawke called a halt.

"We stop here tonight," she said. "I don't want to tackle that pass without some decent rest first."

Bodhan began to set camp and build a fire, happy to provide their first cooked meal in three days.

After they ate, everyone gathered around the campfire for Wicked Grace, except for Hawke and Fenris. They decided to do a sweep of the area as a precaution and, finding no threats, were leaning against the wagon idly talking.

Fenris dropped into silence, a question building inside of him.

"Something on your mind?" Hawke asked him.

He looked up at her. "Tell me, what do you do when you stop running?"

"Hmm, I do have some experience with that," she said with a smile. "It's never easy, but if you let go of the past, it's possible to start anew."

"I don't know how to start anew, I…" He would tell her. She should know. "My first memory is the agony of these markings being carved into my flesh. Whatever life I had before that is lost to me."

"You don't know who you were?" she asked, stunned.

"I do not. Even my name is not my own." He looked down at his feet. "Fenris was the name Danarius bestowed upon me. His _little wolf_."

"I can't imagine…" Her lips pursed. "Everything you tell me about that man makes me want to kill him more."

"I'm sorry, I did not mean to burden you with my problems," he replied looking up at her, pain building in his chest.

"There's no burden, Fenris," she said softly.

Their eyes locked and held for long moments until finally his gaze dropped to her mouth. The smallest movement would bring her lips to his, and there was nothing she wanted more. The memory of his tongue gliding along hers nearly broke her resolve, but on the long walk today, Hawke had done some serious thinking. She had thought about her life, her future… and more than anything else, she had thought about Fenris. Perhaps this was a good time to share some of those thoughts with him.

"I've been thinking," she began, looking at him with all the warmth and affection she felt shining in her dark eyes, "you told me you_ would know what is between us_." She paused, searching for the right words.

"I would," he replied, and oh the growl in his voice made her legs rubbery.

"I don't have an answer, exactly, but I do know _some_ things. Would you hear them?" she asked.

Again, he said, "I would."

She closed her eyes and allowed the words to move through her heart and spill from her lips. "I know that I am attracted to you – by you… and I know that I feel things with you that I've never felt before… Even the softest kiss from you overwhelms me…" She opened her eyes, and added with a sad smile, "I know that your life cannot truly be your own until Danarius is dead, and I know my life is complicated beyond belief."

"There is more," Fenris said. It was not a question; he could hear it in her voice.

"Yes," she agreed, and continued. "Knowing all that, well, we shouldn't rush into this, Fenris. I fear it is a powerful yet fragile thing that will break if we don't take care." She glanced down for a moment before saying in a voice filled with longing, "I don't want to break it."

"Nor I," he said hoarsely, and his expression seemed pained. "You must instruct me how not to break it. "

She smiled. She couldn't help it. His literal earnestness was charming to her. "I've thought of that, too," she said.

Her smile seemed to ease him. "Tell me," he said, his manner more relaxed.

"We spend time together, talk, share a bottle of wine… help each other." She frowned because she wasn't happy with the last part she needed to tell him.

"What is troubling you?" he asked.

She sighed heavily. "No kissing. At least not when we're alone together."

"Hmm," he said, considering. "Why no kissing?" he asked, the disappointment obvious in his voice.

Hawke glanced back toward the campfire, then took Fenris' hand and pulled him deeper into the shadows of the trees. He could barely see her face, except for her shining eyes, as she pressed her lips to his. She began lightly, much as she had the other night, and he responded in kind. He liked this. Why would she want to stop? It was then that her lips parted and her tongue bathed his lower lip, still softly, gently. Her kiss moved from comfort to desire. He liked that even more, and tasted her mouth with his tongue.

The soft moaning sigh that arose from Hawke when he explored further, wanting more deeply inside of her mouth, wanting… something… wanting more, had his whole body tightening, straining. Their tongues tangled, and he began to feel desperate; as if Hawke's kiss had unleashed something inside of him that had been buried for an eternity. His hand slid up her back, pulling her to him and she yielded to his strength, her hands in his hair. And suddenly he understood. How the passion was taking them under, and he did not know how he could remain in control much longer. He gentled his hands and lifted his mouth to look at her. They were both breathing hard.

"I understand," he said thickly. If they allowed what was between them to burn out of control in a rush of desire, it would rage like a forest fire, destroying everything in its path.

"Father used to say that passion's fire needs love's water to keep it from destroying you," she said breathlessly, as if she had read his mind. "I want to explore the water before jumping into the fire."

"That slaver was wrong," Fenris told her as he allowed himself once last gentle caress of her cheek.

"What?" laughed Hawke, puzzled.

"You are indeed wise," he said seriously.

"Flatterer," she teased.

"So, I am improving at last," he said and smiled at her.

"It appears so." She kissed him lightly on the cheek, before leading him back to the campfire.

* * *

Kirkwall, City of Chains. A terrible name for a place she was very glad to see again.

The first thing she did upon returning home was pay for a hot bath. The second thing she did was to eat two bowls of stew, mystery meat be damned. The third thing she did was sleep for nearly sixteen hours. It was a tapping on her door that woke her from slumber.

"Minute," she call blearily. She pulled her robe off the peg on the wall and belted it around her. "Who is it?" she asked, her hand on the knob.

"It's me," said Anders.

She opened the door a crack and peered out at him. "What can I do for you, Anders?" she asked.

"I came to see you. I missed you," Anders replied in a cheery voice, smiling at her.

Hawke briefly considered letting him in, before rejecting the idea. The last thing she needed to do was encourage him, after he'd already admitted he was attracted to her. "Go wait in Varric's room, I'll be right there," she said and shut the door firmly before Anders could argue.

She quickly dressed, pulling on an old pair of leather leggings, a loose white tunic and her boots. "Note to self, she said. "Buy new boots." She rinsed her mouth, tousled her hair and went out.

"There you are," he said, approaching her as if he meant to hug her.

She sidestepped him and sank into a chair. "Here I am," she said wearily.

"Maybe we should go someplace else," Anders suggested, gesturing to the curtain that separated Varric's office from his bedroom. Soft snores were coming from the other side.

"You know Varric sleeps like the dead, Anders," Hawke said.

"Either that or he pretends to sleep like the dead so he can eavesdrop on everyone," Anders quipped.

Hawke laughed. "I wouldn't put it past him."

Anders sat across from her at the long, low table. "So, how'd your trip go?" he asked.

"It was a bust."

"You didn't sell the jewelry, then?"

"No. The whole thing was a set up by Tevinter slavers who were trying to recapture Fenris."

"Did they succeed?"

The tone in Ander's voice was bordering on hopeful, causing Hawke's stomach to turn. Was he serious? Did he think she'd be back in Kirkwall if Fenris were on his way to Minrathous? _Idiot mage_. "No they did not," she replied flatly.

"Oh. Good," Anders said, but to Hawke's ears it did not sound all that sincere.

"They would have succeeded if not for Sandal," she added. "Speaking of which," she said, wanting to change the subject, "we're having a party for him here tomorrow night, if you want to come."

"A party for Sandal?" Anders laughed.

"Yes," Hawke replied seriously. "He saved our lives."

"I wouldn't miss it," replied Anders, looking at her intently.

Some mages just couldn't take a hint.

* * *

The night of Sandal's party, Varric hired musicians and had the food catered. They'd decorated the rafters with hanging ribbons of red and gold, and pushed the tables up against the walls to make room for dancing. The Hanged Man was closed for business, although Corff stood at the door allowing long-time patrons to enter for a fee he'd worked out with Varric in advance.

"Hawke," Isabela knocked on the door to her room.

"It's open," Hawke replied.

Isabela strolled in, dressed in skin-tight black dress that appeared even shorter than her the white version. She looked like a beautiful shadow.

She took a long look at Hawke. "You're not wearing that," Isabela said emphatically.

"What?" Hawke said, looking down at her dark leggings. "These are new – no holes or stains yet."

Isabela walked around her, inspecting. "I suppose the leggings will do, but only because your ass looks good in them."

"Isabela," Hawke said and sighed.

"But that shapeless, dung colored shirt has to go," she said, and moved toward Hawke reaching for the offending shirt's buttons.

"I like this shirt. It's comfortable."

"It's ugly. Take it off," she said when Hawke started batting her hands away from the buttons.

"I don't have anything better," Hawke said. "See for yourself," she gestured to the wardrobe.

Isabela sifted and sorted through Hawke's meager selection of clothing. "Hawke, this is pathetic. You're right, you don't have a damned thing." Isabela slammed the wardrobe shut and moved to the door. "Wait here. Don't you dare go down in that, that, _thing_…"

Hawke slumped on her bed. What did it matter what she wore? The party was for Sandal, not her. And if Isabela thought anything of hers would fit Hawke, well, Isabela was quite a lot curvier than she was. And she wore skimpier clothes than Hawke could possibly be comfortable wearing. _And_ really there was nothing wrong with the shirt she had on.

Isabela did bring a shirt for Hawke to borrow - Hawke gasped at the sight of it. It was a burgundy brocade vest, intricately embroidered with gold thread. It looked much too small for Isabela's larger frame.

"Is this yours?" she asked.

"Yes," Isabela replied. "My mother had it made for me when I married. I was only sixteen and not fully grown."

"You were married?" Hawke asked in disbelief.

"Yes, my mother sold me to some old man for a couple of pigs and some coin," Isabela said in an airy tone. "I was glad to get away from her."

"What happened?" asked Hawke, sorry she had asked but wanting to know.

"He died." Isabela shrugged her shoulders. "So, try it on," she urged.

It fit perfectly. "Isabela, this is beautiful! Are you sure you don't mind if I wear it?" Hawke tugged up on the bodice a bit. It was rather low cut.

"It's yours," Isabela replied, eyeing Hawke speculatively, her usual cheek subdued.

"I couldn't…" Hawke began.

Isabela leaned in and kissed Hawke on the cheek. "No arguing. Now let's go down and have some fun."

* * *

Fenris was leaning with his back against the bar in Isabela's usual spot. People were dancing and drinking. At a round table especially set up for him, Sandal sat with a paper crown on his head, a dozen pies set out before him. Bodahn stood proudly by, watching the festivities and every now and then beaming down at his 'boy.' Fenris scanned the crowd and saw Varric surrounded by a little knot of listeners, Merrill among them, winding the tale of Hawke's latest adventures in a booming voice. Anders was on the dance floor with Norah, the bar maid, and Aveline was examining Sandal's pies. He heard Isabela's rowdy laugh, and turned his head to see her walk down the short flight of steps with Hawke at her side. Hawke was, well, simply beautiful. She was laughing at something Isabela was saying to her, her face animated and happy.

As they reached the bottom step, Hawke scanned the room until her eyes rested on him. She immediately began moving to where he stood by the bar. Isabela glanced over and winked at him, before grabbing a pint from a tray and sashaying around the room, looking for trouble.

"Fenris," she said, accepting the pint he held out to her.

"You look lovely," he told her.

"Thank you," she replied, and did a little faux curtsy. "It's a gift from Isabela."

"The vest is nice, too," he said.

Hawke blushed. "You're getting too good at this," she teased.

"I sit alone in the mansion, concocting flattering phrases for your enjoyment," he teased her back.

The color was rising in her cheeks and her smile was brilliant.

"Do you dance?" she asked him.

"Yes, it was one of my duties," he replied, his words more clipped than he'd intended.

"Does that mean you will or won't dance with me?" she asked, not offended by his tone.

"How could I refuse?" he asked and held his bare hand out to her.

Hawke took his hand and together they moved onto the dance floor. Being near her, the touch of her hand in his, the curve of her hip under his palm, the whiff of honeysuckle when he bent near to her ear – she was intoxicating. They moved together perfectly, seeming to anticipate each other's slightest move. When the dance was over and Ander's approached asking for Hawke's hand, he wanted nothing more than to rip the abomination's heart from his chest. It was all he could do to keep his markings under control.

Hawke looked at him regretfully, before joining Anders in a boisterous jig that had them twirling around the room together. She ended up dancing with most of the men in the bar, and a few women, including Isabela. Someone was always thrusting a pint into her hands between dances, and he watched as Hawke drank greedily, envying the mug the touch of her lips. He agreed to dance with Isabela, as well, just to distract himself from watching Hawke in the arms of other men.

One of the well-dressed dandies that frequented the Hanged Man was approaching Hawke for a dance, when she announced very loudly, "I need a break." His heart rose when she looked around for him, and upon seeing him started directly for him.

Her eyes were sparkling, her cheeks flushed, and the smile she gave him as she approached had him desperate to pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless.

"This is fun," she said, taking the pint from his hand and taking a long drink. "And thirsty work." She winked at him.

Anders approached them. "Care for another dance, Hawke?" he asked her, holding out his hand.

She left her hand where it was. "I'm sitting the next few out," she replied. "You go ahead." She looked around. "Merrill's not dancing, ask her," she teased.

Anders glanced over his shoulder. "No thanks. I don't consort with blood mages."

"Says the abomination," Fenris sneered.

Before it could turn into another argument, Hawke brightly said, "Fenris, let's pay homage to our hero." She grabbed his hand and pulled him along. Fenris could not help it; the look he shot Anders was smug. The mage shot daggers back at him, but Fenris didn't care. He only had eyes for Hawke.

* * *

"Well Rivaini, you'd better have the coin ready, because I'm going to win." Varric was sitting at a table with Merrill and Isabela, and they were all watching Hawke and Fenris talking with Bodahn while inspecting Sandals pies. Their hands brushed and Fenris gave Hawke a rare smile.

"Giving her that vest may have been a tactical error on my part," Isabela said, frowning.

"Why?" asked Merrill. "It's so pretty on her."

"Exactly so," said Varric.

They watched as Sandal lifted a piece of pie and offered it to Hawke. She took the pie and bit into it, chewing slowly, her eyes closed.

"That pie must be good," said Merrill. "Look at Hawke's face."

"Never fear. We're watching, Daisy. Best show in the house," Varric said with a chuckle.

Hawke bent and said something to Sandal, then turned and held the piece of pie up to Fenris, offering him a bite. Fenris looked down at the pie in her hand for a long moment before closing his teeth on it very, very slowly, his eyes on Hawke the entire time. He swallowed, and then leaned forward to whisper in her ear, causing the color to rush to Hawke's cheeks.

"Maker! Those two are going to combust," gasped Isabela.

Merrill shot up out of her seat, and Isabela quickly grabbed her by the arm. "What's wrong, Kitten?"

"If the pie's going to explode, we should warn them!" Merrill said tugging at her arm.

"Oh Merrill, it's not explosive pie, I promise," Isabela said as reassuringly as she could through her laughter.

Merrill sat back down. "Why did you say it was, then?"

"It was a metaphor, Daisy," said Varric.

"Whenever I don't understand, its usually about sex," Merrill said glumly.

"As you say," replied Varric. Isabela just laughed harder.


	6. Chapter 5

It was coming up on a year since they'd returned from the Deep Roads, and still the Viscount's office had not approved Leandra's claim to the Amell estate. Hawke had the coin to pay the back taxes, thanks to Varric's recent sale of several valuable pieces of treasure, and the delay was frustrating her. She hated that her mother was stuck at Gamlen's, but she had no intention of moving back to that wretched place, despite Leandra's weekly pleas.

Hawke decided it was well past time she paid a visit to the viscount herself. After all, she had met Viscount Dumar and had also saved his son from those vile mercenaries, the Winters. He must respect her, because it was his interference that had kept Hawke and her mother from being arrested by the Templars when Bethany was taken to the Circle. Surely this process could be expedited.

On her way to the Hightown bridge, she saw Aveline at the weapons vendor, perusing their swords. "Aveline!" she called.

The guardswoman turned, "Hello Hawke. Where are you off to?"

"I'm going to pay the viscount a visit regarding Mother's claim to the estate," Hawke replied.

"Ha!" said Aveline. "You'll never get past the seneschal."

"Viscount Dumar knows me," said Hawke. "I saved his son's life!"

"Doesn't matter what you did, Seneschal Bran is the locked door between Dumar and the rest of Kirkwall."

"I have to try," Hawke said, exasperated. "I thought I would offer the back taxes in advance."

"You going there now?" asked Aveline.

Hawke nodded. "Care to come with me?"

"Oh no, you're not dragging me into it. I have enough trouble with the seneschal always looking over my shoulder."

"At least walk with me to the keep," Hawke suggested. It couldn't hurt to be seen arriving with the Guard Captain.

"Fine," Aveline said with a little huff.

As usual, the place was filled with angry nobles loudly complaining about not getting to see the viscount.

"I'll be in the barracks. Come find me when you're done," Aveline said with a wave.

The seneschal was standing in his usual spot, arms folded across his chest in a forbidding manner. Hawke squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, reminding herself that she was an Amell, and not just a Ferelden refuge. She also reminded herself that Seneschal Bran was a pompous ass, and to deal with him as such.

"Seneschal Bran," she said as she approached him.

"Pardon me," the seneschal replied in his bored voice, "I know we have met but I do not recall your name."

_Liar_, Hawke thought to herself. Out loud she said, "My name is Hawke, Mari Hawke."

"Ah yes, you were involved in the rescue of Viscount Dumar's son, were you not?"

"Yes, I was." Hawke replied, determined not to allow this weasel to get a rise out of her.

"What can I do for you Serah Hawke?" he asked.

"I need to see Viscount Dumar," she said, as if she expected to be ushered in right away.

"Impossible," he said looking down his nose at her. "His schedule is full for the next three months. Perhaps you'd like to make an appointment?" He gestured to the desk where a middle-aged woman sat working on a ledger.

"Impossible," Hawke replied haughtily. "I must see the viscount today."

Seneschal Bran eyed her speculatively. "What could be so important that _you_ have to see the viscount?"

Hawke thought for a moment. What's the best strategy - tell him or no? "Is there somewhere we can speak privately?" she finally asked.

The Seneschal sighed heavily. "Very well, this way." He led her through the double doors and into his office. She knew it was his office because she had broken in once and picked the lock on his chest. The only thing in there had been a cheap amulet and a bundle of love letters from someone named Serendipity.

He followed her into the office and shut the door behind him. The seneschal stood expectantly, one eyebrow lifted, arms still folded across his chest, waiting.

"My mother has petitioned the viscount to reclaim her family's estate," Hawke began. "I've come to pay the taxes owed in order to facilitate the process."

"And which _estate_ might that be?" he asked.

"The Amell estate."

He snorted. "I highly doubt someone like _you_ would possess enough gold to pay off ten years of back taxes on one of the finest estates in Kirkwall," he said, smirking.

She would not lose her temper. She would not punch him in the face. She would not kick him in the… Hawke composed herself as best she could and said, "We could make a deal," she suggested. She didn't know exactly how much the taxes were, but she had accumulated a great deal of gold in the past year.

"A… deal," he repeated snidely.

"Yes," Hawke said with a smirk of her own. "If I can pay the taxes, you will have Viscount Dumar sign the petition approving our claim."

"And if you cannot pay the taxes?" he asked stepping closer to her. "How do I benefit?"

Andraste's ass, a pompous jerk and a creep! "What would you want?" she asked, keeping her tone even.

The mask of boredom dropped, and he eyed her up and down in such a lascivious way that she felt physically ill.

"Merely an evening in your company, Serah Hawke."

Hawke's fingers itched for her daggers, but she held her ground and said, "You obviously don't like me, seneschal. Why would you ask that?"

"You are the one who requested _privacy_. You are the one who suggested a _deal_. Those are my terms," he said turning away. "Do you accept?"

Hawke really didn't have to think about it. There was no way she would ever let this malevolent rat anywhere near her for an _evening_. She wasn't worried she lacked the coin, but she would not debase herself by even agreeing to his terms. "No," she said. "I am not available for an evening, or a morning or any other time of day. If you make a more honorable request of me, I will reconsider."

"Who are you to speak of honor?" he asked derisively.

Hawke's smile was all teeth. "I am the daughter of Malcom Hawke and Leandra Amell," she said evenly.

"Our business is concluded," said the seneschal. He opened the door and gestured for her to leave.

* * *

"He what?" asked Aveline in some alarm.

"I don't want to repeat it, Aveline. It was disgusting enough the first time."

"I knew he was a weasel, but that makes him…"

"A degenerate weasel," Hawke finished for her.

"What are you going to do?" Aveline asked, concern apparent in her face.

"I don't know yet," Hawke said and ran a hand through her hair, "but whatever it is, you probably don't want to know."

"Hawke, don't do anything…"

"I have to go, Aveline. See you at the Hanged Man later?"

Aveline shook her head. "I'm on patrol tonight."

"Soon, then." Hawke was out the door before Aveline had a chance to say anything else.

* * *

"Isabela! Got a minute?"

Hawke had returned to the Hanged Man to seek council from her most devious friends.

Isabela came swaggering over. "For you, beautiful, of course."

Hawke laughed. "That's never going to work on me, you know."

Isabela released an exaggerated sigh. "Can't blame a girl for trying." They walked up the stairs to Varric's suite. "Speaking of trying, have you kissed him yet?"

Hawke's head snapped around, her brow furrowed and asked, "What?"

"You have! It's all over your face!" Isabela practically squealed. "Soooo, how was it? It was intense, wasn't it? The man screams intensity."

"We are not having this conversation," said Hawke.

"What conversation?" asked Varric as they entered his rooms.

"Hawke and Fenris kissed and she won't tell me about it," Isabela pouted.

"I never said…" Hawke tried to interject.

"You don't say." Varric smiled like someone had just handed him a heavy purse of gold. "Come on Hawke, we're your friends."

"Honestly, I came here to ask for your help, and all you two want to talk about is my lo…" she stopped the word and finished, "private life."

Varric and Isabela exchanged knowing glances.

"Fine. This was obviously a mistake," Hawke said. Why was she being so prickly? If it were anyone else but Fenris… And that, of course, was the crux of it. He was a grown man. A strong warrior – a killing machine, as Anders like to call him. He was intelligent, capable and loyal. But emotionally? With his memory gone, all he knew was what Danarius had created him to be, and he was struggling like a wolf in a trap to get free of that. The last thing he needed was his friends poking sticks at him.

"Hawke?" asked Varric. "What's going on?"

Hawke sighed and slumped into a chair. "I've had a bad day." She told them of her visit to the seneschal in all its horrible glory.

"If you were sure you had the money, why didn't you take the deal?" asked Isabela.

"Because I wouldn't give that nug-humping bastard the satisfaction of even thinking I'd let him touch me," she said through her teeth.

"Who?" came a deep voice from the doorway.

None of them had heard Fenris come in.

"Apparently Seneschal Bran wanted to trade access to the viscount for the use of Hawke's oh-so-sexy body," purred Isabela.

Hawke wished Isabela hadn't described it quite that way. She could tell Fenris was struggling with his temper. His fists were clenched and his mouth was set in a hard line. "What happened when you told him _no_?" he asked in a low voice. All right, it was a growl. Of course it was.

Hawke rose from the chair and moved to stand beside him. "He asked me to leave," she said and smiled at Fenris. "No need to go rip his heart out or anything." She was teasing, but also serious.

"Allow me a moment to relish the image, at least," he said.

Hawke laughed, the tension broken. "Please do," she said, "In fact I'll join you." Hawke closed her eyes as Fenris watched her, a smile now curving his lips. "Hmm, very satisfying."

"Yes, yes, now that we've all imagined the seneschal's crushed heart in a bloody pool on the floor, let's get down to business," Varric said.

Hawke nodded. "I need access to Viscount Dumar. According to Aveline, the only way to see him is through the seneschal."

"Maybe we could break in, leave the gold for the taxes with a note saying, _this is for my back taxes."_

"That's a horrible plan Isabela!" Hawke said, laughing.

Isabela shrugged blithely, but there was a twinkle in her eye.

"I could check with my contacts, see if there's someone we could bribe," Varric suggested. "There's always someone who'll take a bribe."

"I suppose," Hawke said doubtfully.

"What about Seamus?" asked Fenris.

They all looked at him. He shrugged. "What?"

And so the hatching of the plan began.

* * *

The first part of the plan was simple. Varric dispatched his gang of urchins to track the movements of one Seamus Dumar. Using that information, Hawke should be able to 'accidentally' meet him, and, hopefully convince him to aid her cause. Simple. Well, in theory anyway. She was well aware that there were always complications.

Something else was niggling in the back of her mind, however. The past few nights she had dreamed of wandering around the dark rooms of the Amell estate, searching for she knew not what. Hawke had only been in the mansion the one time, when they'd killed the nest of slavers who lived there and had procured her grandfather's will. Yet in her dreams she walked the rooms and corridors as if she'd lived there all her life.

She was sitting alone in the common room of the Hanged Man one evening, nursing her ale, when Varric came tromping down the steps.

"Hawke!" said Varric. "There you are."

"Any news, Varric?" Hawke asked.

The dwarf sat down across from her and shook his head. "Nothing reliable, yet. Seems the boy doesn't keep any kind of routine, but we're at least finding out the places he usually haunts."

"Good," said Hawke. "I'm sure we'll figure out something."

"Of course we will," Varric said cheerfully. "We always do."

"There's something else that's been on my mind," Hawke began, but Varric interrupted her.

"Here comes your elf, Hawke," Varric said nodding his head toward the door.

"He's not _my elf,_ Varric," Hawke said under her breath.

"Coulda fooled me," Varric mumbled back to her.

"Fenris," Hawke called to him.

"Hawke," he replied, his voice that odd monotone he often used in public.

She pulled out the chair next to hers. Once he was seated, she said, "I'm glad you're here, Fenris. I was about to…"

Varric interrupted her again, "And, here comes Blondie."

Without being invited, Anders came over and sat in the empty chair between Varric and Hawke. "Hawke," he said, "good to see you. You're looking well."

"Hello Anders," she said trying for a friendly tone, but she didn't like the way he was smiling at her.

Anders turned to Varric. "Buy me a pint?" he asked. Varric signaled to the barkeep.

The mage was quite obviously pretending Fenris wasn't sitting at the table with them, but to Hawke's mind that was better than the insults and arguing that was the normal result of having the two of them in the same room together.

Corff brought over a pitcher and three more mugs, and once the ale was poured, Hawke tried again. "I was thinking it might be worthwhile to do a bit more exploring at the estate."

"Wouldn't that be breaking an entering?" asked Varric happily. Varric loved breaking and entering.

"You forget, Varric, I have a key to the basement."

"Ah, that's right. The entrance through Darktown."

"There's an entrance to the Amell estate in Darktown?" asked Anders.

"Yep, Blondie. Right outside of your clinic, ironically," Varric replied.

"How is that ironic?" asked Hawke.

"Okay, coincidentally," Varric amended.

"So," Hawke said trying to regain control of the conversation, "I thought I'd go tomorrow morning. See if there's anything useful that might help with Mother's claim."

"I thought we picked that place pretty clean when we took out those slavers," said Varric.

Fenris grunted, probably in approval of dead slavers.

"I was concentrating on finding the vault and grandfather's will," said Hawke. "I'm talking about a fine tooth comb kind of exploring."

"Well, I'm in," said Varric.

Fenris nodded, "Whatever you need, I am ready to assist," he said.

Anders lifted his mug, "You can count on me, Hawke."

"All right, we'll meet here in the morning, see what we can find," Hawke said.

After a while, Varric and Anders wandered off, leaving Fenris and Hawke alone at the table.

"You appear troubled, Hawke," Fenris said.

"Yes, well, I didn't want to say so in front of the others, but I've been dreaming of the estate nearly every night. Prowling through it, looking for… something… I don't know what," she said shaking her head.

"Hawke of the vivid dreams," teased Fenris.

She smiled at him. "Other than my family, you're the only one that knows about my little dreaming secret."

He smiled, pleased. "You never find what you are looking for in these dreams?"

"No, and it's driving me mad," she said, "which is why I want to go there, if for no other reason than I will stop dreaming about it."

* * *

Hawke used her key and pushed on the old door, its hinges squeaking in protest as she opened it. "Can you light the sconces as we go along?" she asked Anders.

"Certainly," he replied and with a wave of his hand, the room was filled with flickering light.

It reminded her of the last time they were here, when Bethany had done the job. Hawke missed her sister so much. Bethany should be here with them now, not locked away in some cell. As much as she understood the need for the Circle, well, mages should be able to graduate after they'd proven themselves, instead of being imprisoned for the rest of their lives. She sighed. _Task at hand, and all that_, she thought.

"Let's make a sweep first, in case there are any surprises," she said to the others.

They went from room to room, up many stairwells, through long corridors, just like in her dreams. Other than quite a few spiders (of the small variety, thankfully) and the skittering of rodents (she never actually saw one – again, thankfully) the mansion appeared to be clear.

"Let's spread out," Hawke said, coughing a little from the dust they'd stirred with their passage. The party separated, and Hawke chose the upmost room to begin her search. She searched broken crates and old barrels, checked for loose floorboards or hidden switches along the molding. She found a locked chest under an old, moldy blanket, which she swiftly picked and began to rifle through the contents.

She dropped to her knees and reached for something sparkling toward the back when a rumbling voice said, "I like the view."

She turned and smiled at Fenris. "I aim to please," she said. "What's that?" she asked and stood, nodding to the wrapped package in his hand.

He brought the package to her. "It appears to be old letters."

Hawke took the package from him. It was wrapped with a wide band of scarlet silk, which she untied and idly draped over her neck. "Amazing this isn't dry-rot," she said.

"They were sealed in a box," Fenris told her.

Hawke's eyes went wide. "Lea," she breathed.

"Who is Lea?"

"Lea is the nickname Father called my mother. These must be letters he wrote to her when they were courting," she said, obviously excited. "If I start reading them now, I'll be here all day!" She laughed and rewrapped the bundle with the silk before she tucked the pack in her satchel.

"Hawke," said Fenris softly.

"Hmm?" she looked up at him.

"Technically, we are not alone," he said stepping closer to her.

"True," she answered, feeling a shiver go up her spine. "Varric and Anders are here... somewhere."

"Yes," he growled, and moved even closer.

Her eyes locked on his mouth and she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. "Yes," she repeated.

He reached for her, and then his lips were on hers. Hawke rested her hands on his chest to keep some space between them, determined not to allow this to go too far. But oh, it was glorious to feel his mouth on hers again. The soft, slippery wetness of tongues sliding over lips and meeting to dance together sensually. She was losing herself to the pleasure of it, beginning to lean into him, when there was a sound by the door.

"Eh em."

They quickly pulled apart. Varric was standing on the threshold of the room and his face was an all-knowing smirk. "Sorry to interrupt," he said, not sounding sorry at all, "but I've found something interesting."

As she turned to follow Varric from the room, she heard Fenris say behind her, "_Festis bei umo canavarum_." She'd have to remember to ask him what that meant. She almost walked into Anders, not having seen him hovering behind the door. His expression was thunderous, but he said not a word, merely followed behind as they descended the stairs.

Varric had found a hidden room under the main staircase leading up to the bedrooms. He showed Hawke the switch he'd found under the lip of a step.

"Clever," said Hawke following him into the room. It was low ceilinged, long and narrow, appearing to stretch all the way to the back wall of the mansion. It was filled with chests, crates and several large wardrobes, the tops of which were just inches below the ceiling. "Well," said Hawke, "let's get some real light in here and see what we've found."

They had been sorting through the contents of the secret room for about an hour when Hawke squealed. They all turned to her, thinking she'd stumbled upon a rat or some other vermin, but instead she was holding up a pair of soft leather boots. "Boots!" she exclaimed and immediately dropped to the dusty floor and began tugging off her old, blister-making ones. "Maker, I hope they fit," she said, and slid her foot down into the left boot. It hugged her calf, the folded leather at the top stopping just below her knee.

"They look finely crafted," said Fenris. "Is that a rune above the heel?"

Hawke had one boot successfully on her foot. She lifted the other to examine it and said, "Yes, I think it is, but I don't recognize it."

"You can ask Bodahn's boy, he might know," said Varric. "Or he might tell you he likes pie, you never know."

Hawke slid the right boot onto her foot and began walking around, testing them out. "It's like walking on air," she said delightedly, her smile wide. She slipped out into the larger room and began doing somersaults and cartwheels, her normal practice routine for fighting. "They're perfect!" she said, flipping into the air, tumbling over the bannister and landing lightly on the steps about half way down.

Varric applauded and said, "Nice legs, Hawke."

She heard a low growl erupt from Fenris at the dwarf's words, and had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.

All in all they'd discovered a valuable cache of weapons and armor, trunks of leather bound books and a smattering of enchanted jewelry. The rest had been household receipts and ledgers, old portraits and quite a lot of moth eaten finery, thirty years out of style.

"It's a good thing Gamlen didn't find this room," said Hawke. "It would all be long gone to pay off his gambling debts."

"Blondie and I will take this stuff back to the Hanged Man," Varric said, piling some of the better armor and weapons into a large handled trunk. "We'll see you back there."

She noticed that Anders hadn't spoken at all since the scene upstairs. "Thanks for helping out today, Anders," she said, feeling somewhat bad for him, even though she had never led him on.

"You're welcome," he said stiffly, then grabbed one handle of the trunk and started down the stairs with Varric holding the other.

There was one last wardrobe at the very back they had not yet searched. Hawke pulled the door open. Inside was an arsenal of blades - long blades, daggers, short swords, claymores and scimitars. One claymore in particular caught her eye, and she carefully removed it from where it hung, as tall as the inside of the wardrobe.

"Fenris, look at this." She held the sword out to him.

The blade's surface seemed pearlescent; reflecting the light in blues, greens and yellows. The hilt was silver, inlaid with a swirling pattern of sapphires and emeralds. Three runes were mounted into the hand-guard – runes of strength, striking and agility. In filigree lettering on the pommel was carved _Na via lerno victoria_. She tried to say it aloud, and Fenris laughed at her fumbled pronunciation.

She frowned at him. "What does it mean?" she asked.

"_Na via lerno victoria_. Only the living know victory," he translated.

"Here," she handed it to him.

As Hawke had, he stepped out into the larger room and began pulling the blade through the air, sometimes with one hand, sometimes two, sometimes switching between hands so quickly Hawke didn't see him do it.

"A very fine blade," he said holding it out to her.

"Oh no, it's yours."

"Hawke, this is obviously an heirloom of your family," Fenris protested.

She lowered her head for a moment before speaking, and when she looked back at him, her eyes were moist, though she did not cry. "Carver would have loved this blade. He fought as you, with a two-handed sword and no shield."

"So that is why you are so adept at synchronizing with me in battle," said Fenris.

Hawke nodded. "He'd like to know you were using it in the good fight, defending his big sister." She laughed softly. "Carver and I fought like cats and dogs, but he was always the first one to put himself between me and trouble."

"In that case," he said, "you honor me," and he bowed slightly.

Hawke chose two daggers for herself, fine steel daggers with curved blades and many runes. "I'll have to practice with these before I use them in a fight," she said, comparing them to her own straight blades. "You know," she said, "we could train together, Fenris."

"That is an excellent idea," he responded.

Hawke chose another set of daggers for Isabela, and a wicked looking axe to give to Aveline. Everything else she left for when she returned to the estate as its owner.

* * *

Later, Hawke heard Varric and Isabela talking in Varric's rooms, and went to retrieve the daggers she'd chosen for Isabela, gleefully anticipating the pirate's reaction to the gleaming blades. She was just about to round the corner, but paused when she heard Varric say, "You should have been there, Rivaini." He chuckled. "I don't know which was better, the elf and Hawke lip-locked, or the look on Anders' face when he saw them."

"Poor Anders," giggled Isabela. "He doesn't stand a chance."

"Heh heh, about as much chance as there is of Bartrand becoming a Chantry priest," Varric agreed.

There was some clinking of mugs, and Hawke was just about to enter the room when Varric said, "So, do you want to pay up now?"

"What? No way! The bet was for having sex, not kissing," Isabela said.

"It's only a matter of time," said Varric, sounding very sure of himself.

Hawke stormed into the room then, a dagger in each hand, and said, "You two are betting on me and Fenris having…" she lowered her voice, "having sex?" She was beyond angry.

Isabela gaped at Hawke and Varric automatically reached for Bianca.

"Calm down, sweet thing," coaxed Isabela. "Put down the sharp, pointy things."

Hawke looked at the daggers in her hands as if she'd never seen them before. She banged them onto the table. "These are for you," she said irritably. "And don't change the subject."

"Now Hawke," Varric said as he returned Bianca to her stand, "It was just a friendly wager."

"On my personal life! What was the bet?" she demanded.

Isabela hedged, "It started out on whether you'd end up with Fenris or Anders."

Varric chimed in, "But when your preference became clear, Rivaini convinced me to change the terms."

"Which were?" Hawke prompted, her voice dangerously low.

Varric mumbled something.

"What was that?" Hawke asked.

"Whether you two would sleep together before Summerday Eve," he answered.

"I thought it would take longer, you know, considering you're a prude, and Fenris is all messed up from being a slave," Isabela explained pragmatically.

"I am not a prude!" Hawke shouted.

"Oh come on, Hawke. You've been in Kirkwall for two years, and you haven't slept with anyone." Isabela leaned in closely and said in a sultry voice, "And I know you've had plenty of offers."

Hawke closed her eyes and counted to ten. Then twenty. She was all the way up to fifty before she felt she could speak in a reasonable tone. "There will be no more bets on my love life, understood?"

They both nodded.

"Say it!"

"No more bets," said Varric.

"On your sex life," said Isabela.

"Argh! Close enough." She glared at them both for a minute before adding, "And if I am more discriminating than some people I know," she stared pointedly at Isabela, "my reasons are my business and no one else's."

She turned and walked out on them, but heard Isabela say to her back, "Thanks for the daggers," in a meek voice. Hawke smiled. Isabela was never meek. She'd made her point.


	7. Chapter 6

_My dearest Lea,_

_My tears, which you saw, and know I am not apt to shed, and if the agitation in which I parted from you has not irrevocably frightened you away from me, if all that I have said and done, and am still but too ready to say and do, have not sufficiently proved what my real feelings are and must be ever towards you, my love, I have no other proof to offer. Maker knows I wish you happy, and if your sense of duty to your fiancé means that you must quit me, you shall acknowledge the truth of what I again promise and vow, that no other in word or deed shall ever hold the place in my affection which is and shall be most sacred to you, till I have returned to the void._

_I never knew till that moment, the madness of - my dearest and most beloved friend - I cannot express myself - this is no time for words. I shall have a pride, a melancholy pleasure, in suffering what you yourself can hardly conceive. I am about to flee Kirkwall with a heavy heart, wanting you to come with me and knowing I have no right to ask it of you. Do you think now that I am devious and artful? Will even others think so, will your mother even - that mother to whom we must indeed sacrifice much, and much more on my part than she shall ever know or can imagine. "Promises not to love you" ah Lea, it is past promising. Attribute all concessions to the proper motive and never cease to feel all that you have already witnessed is the truth of my heart._

_These taunts which have driven you to this - my dearest Lea - were it not for your mother and the kindness of all your connections, is there anything in Thedas or in heaven that would have made me so happy as to have made you mine long ago? And not less now than then, but more than ever at this time, you know I would with pleasure give up all here in this world and all beyond the grave for you, and in refraining from this, must my motives be misunderstood? I care not who knows this - what use is made of it - it is you and to you only that give my concern. I was and am yours, freely and most entirely, to obey, to honor, love – and to fly with you when, where, and how you yourself might and may determine._

_May the Maker protect, forgive and bless you - ever and even more than ever._

_Malcom*_

Hawke reclined on her bed, tears streaming down her cheeks. She'd just finished reading the last of her father's letters, and even knowing that Leandra had indeed flown with Malcolm from Kirkwall, the story of their romance had wrenched her heart.

"Ah Mother," she said aloud to herself, "It seems I have not escaped your fate." Fenris was not an apostate, but he was a hunted man, and because she'd given her heart to him, it meant that she was hunted, too. She quickly sat up. Whoa! Had she given her heart to him? When had she decided that? She sat quietly, with that far-away expression that meant she was listening, connecting dots, seeing patterns.

_Uh oh. I'm in trouble._

As if her thoughts had summoned him, there was a light knock on the door. She knew it was Fenris before she opened it.

"Fenris," she smiled at him. "Come in."

"You've been crying?" he asked, a look of extreme discomfort on his face.

"Oh," she said and wiped at her tears. She'd completely forgotten them. "It's nothing. I was reading father's letters, that's all."

"A sad story then," he said.

"Hmm… sad, wonderful, joyous, tragic, and all the things in between."

"Yes, I am beginning to discover those things. It is very different from being a slave. Having my own feelings, making my own choices. It has been… an adjustment." He said this with no self-pity, although there was a hint of sadness in the lines of his face.

She couldn't help it; Hawke reached up and touched his cheek with her fingertips. "You're doing fine," she said.

"You are being kind," he said, covering her hand with his own.

"And we rhymed," Hawke laughed, breaking the moment. Maker, she should not be alone with him so soon after her epiphany. "Not that I'm not always happy to see you, but did you need something, Fenris?"

He smiled. "I came to see if you'd like to train together today."

"I would," she agreed cheerfully, and began to gather her gear.

* * *

"I think we've got that one," Hawke said. She was breathing hard from the effort, but felt absolutely wonderful.

They had been practicing most of the afternoon in the foyer of Fenris' mansion, and although the muscles in her arms and legs were screaming, her face was flushed and happy. They had been practicing a maneuver in which Fenris crouched low to swipe his sword at knee level, and Hawke used his back as a springboard to get behind the make-believe enemies.

"I worry about the timing when we are actually engaged in battle," Fenris said with a slight frown.

"I guess we won't know until we try," she replied, lifted her arms over her head and arched her back in a long stretch. "Fenris, is that extra-special zippy thing you do a lyrium talent, or is it a skill anyone can learn?"

"Extra-special zippy thing?" he asked with a grin.

Hawke stood for a moment, transfixed. She'd never seen him smile quite like that. Relaxed and enjoying himself… happy?

"Hawke?" he asked.

"Oh, yes, right," she said with a slight shake of her head. "You know what I mean. You just go _zoom_, and a blur of Fenris zips by and straight to the enemy line."

"It is a skill, although I believe the lyrium enhances my speed," he replied.

"Can you teach me?"

"I will attempt to do so."

He began by having her watch him as he practiced the move he called his _scythe_. He explained the way he placed his feet and how he used the muscles in his upper body as much as those in his legs.

"I don't know," Hawke said. "I'm not as strong as you are. It might not work."

"Try, and I will correct your mistakes," he said moving aside. "Remember to keep your eyes focused on the exact spot on the ground you are aiming for."

"It's like throwing my whole self, instead of a knife?" she asked.

Fenris chuckled. "An interesting way to put it."

Hawke positioned herself against the wall, and cleared her mind. She focused intently on a broken tile about half way across the room, while attempting to use her muscles as Fenris had shown her. She stepped forward and… _pop_, her vision exploded in lightning bolts of color, and in the next breath she was sitting on her butt on the broken tile, feeling very dizzy.

Fenris rushed over to her.

"I did it?" she asked as she lifted a hand to her head.

He knelt down before her. "No," he said.

"No? Then how did I get here?" she asked, still feeling dizzy and now also confused.

"I do not know. One second you were standing by the wall, and the next you were sitting on the floor here," he said pointing down. "What did you do?"

"I have no idea, but I want to try it again."

"Are you quite sure that's a good idea?"

"No, but I'm going to do it anyway." She held out a hand for him to help her up.

He pulled her to her feet and said, "Wait, Hawke. Look at your boot," he pointed down to the rune set above the heel. It was faintly glowing.

She checked the other boot, and watched as the glimmering light in the rune faded.

"My new enchanted boots," she said, positioning herself to try again, "how interesting."

After six times of landing on her ass, she complained, "There has to be a way to control how I land or this is useless."

"How do you land properly when you tumble about in the air?" he asked, a knowing gleam in his eye.

"At this point my body automatically knows how to…" She stopped and a look of comprehension dawned on her face.

"Just so," Fenris said.

"You don't have to sound so smug," she replied, laughing.

He gestured for her to try again. This time she landed on her feet, but wobbled and almost fell over. She found she had to wait for the runes to stop glowing before they would work again. By the time the sun was setting, Hawke was able to land standing, in a crouch and was working on going directly into a flip, when Fenris suggested they stop for the day.

"Why?" Hawke asked. "I'm just getting the hang of it."

Fenris came to stand before her. "Because if I have to watch you twist, contort, stretch and otherwise exhibit your body any more today, I will not be held responsible," he growled.

His words, combined with the hungry expression on his face, hit her low in her belly, and a delicious heat shot down into her legs. She wobbled slightly and his face filled with concern.

"Are you ill?" he asked, taking her elbow in his hand to steady her.

"We are in so much trouble," Hawke said on a soft breath. When simply he looked at her in confusion, she said, "You're right, we should go… Out." She gazed up at him longingly. "Where there are people… Lots of people." She felt herself leaning toward him and couldn't seem to stop herself. "_Now_… We should go now."

He stared down at her, his hand still on her elbow, and she thought, _if he doesn't get us out of here, there is no way I can keep my hands off of him._

"Yes," he said, but the word was a long, low rumble of sound that she could not make sense of. Yes, we should go? Yes, I'll carry you up to my bed and ravish you?

Without taking his eyes from her, he carefully led her to the front door and put his hand on the knob. Hawke was incredibly relieved and terribly disappointed at the same time, but before she could say a word, his mouth crushed to hers in a kiss so filled with need it stole her breath. He pulled away too soon, and his piercing gaze confirmed what his kiss had told her. He was fairing no better than she. He wanted her just as badly.

They slipped out into the fading light of the evening, and walked the entire way to Lowtown without speaking. Each lost in their own thoughts, and neither aware that Fenris' hand had remained on her elbow the whole way.

* * *

The next morning Hawke strolled into Varric's office carrying a greasy paper sack. "Pastries," she said plopping them down on the table.

"Pastries?" Varric asked.

"They're still warm," she replied, and dug into the bag. She stuffed half of a sugary concoction into her mouth. "They're really good." She shoved the sack toward Varric.

"You okay, Hawke?" asked Varric carefully.

"Who me?" she replied, her mouth still filled with pastry. "No, not at all."

"You're not okay?"

"Not even a little bit," she said, swallowing hard.

"You want to talk about it?" he asked, unsure of just where this was going.

She barked a short laugh, causing bits of bread to fly through the air. One bit hit Varric on the cheek, and he wiped it away with a grimace. "Talk to you? The guy who makes bets on my sex life behind my back? Talk to the storyteller who has half of Kirkwall believing I flew to Kirkwall on the back of a dragon? Oh, that's a great idea!" She laughed again, but there was no humor in it.

Varric was getting worried. Hawke was acting really weird.

"Look, about that bet," he told her trying to sound sincere, "I'm really sorry about that, Hawke."

"No, you're not," Hawke said seriously. "Don't lie to me, Varric. You'll do it again as long as you're sure you won't get caught."

She was right, and that actually made Varric feel bad. He was feeling honest contrition, and didn't quite know how to handle it. It looked like she needed a friend. Not a business partner or a comedy side-kick or a drinking buddy, but instead a friend, a confidante. He scratched his chin wondering if he was capable of that. An idea popped into his head and it blurted out of his mouth before he knew what he was saying.

"If you need someone to talk to Hawke, I'll swear on Bianca to keep quiet about, well, whatever it is."

That gave Hawke pause. "On Bianca?"

Varric huffed, pissed off that his stupid mouth had gone and said such a thing. Hawke had a very strange effect on people. She inspired them to behave in all kinds of ways they normally wouldn't. Now it appeared it was happening to him, as well. _Andraste's ass_. "Yes, on Bianca."

Hawke peered at him with narrowed eyes. "Are you shitting me, Varric? I need to know if you're shitting me."

"Damn it, as sorry as I am to admit it, I am not shitting you." Varric said gruffly.

Hawke stood and wiped the crumbs from her armor. "Take a walk with me Varric," she said.

* * *

They sat at the end of a pier. The water sparkled in the soft morning sunlight, and the Gallows seemed to rise up from the harbor and devour the sky.

"I come here to think, sometimes," Hawke said, quietly. "I miss my sister. Being here I feel closer to her."

"I miss My Lady Sunshine, too Hawke," Varric replied.

Hawke graced him with the first real smile that day. "She loved that you called her that. It suited her." Hawke sighed. "I could tell Bethany anything. I never realized how much I relied on her for that."

"Can't you visit her?" asked Varric.

Hawke shook her head. "She only gets one visitor per month, and it's only for an hour. Mother tells me I should go, but I always tell her I'm busy. It would kill her to miss those visits."

"I'm sure Bethany wants to see you, too," Varric said.

"Would she?" Hawke asked sadly. I don't know. If I'd taken her with us to the Deep Roads… Well, you can't go back."

"I can't imagine Bethany blaming you for the Templars, Hawke."

Hawke said nothing while she gazed out over the water for a time.

"I think I'm in way over my head, Varric." Hawke's voice was barely above a whisper.

"The elf?" he guessed.

She nodded. "I was attracted to him from the first, but I never thought it through." There was another long pause. "By the time I realized what it would mean to have a relationship with someone who was once a slave, what kind of commitment that would take, I was already half-way in love with him. I thought I still had a choice." She shook her head. "I was wrong."

"What about Fenris?" Varric asked gruffly.

"Think about it, Varric. Fenris has barely begun to develop the ability to feel _anything_ for himself. It's overwhelming for him. How could he understand what it's like to fall in love, when all he's known is cruelty and pain? No, this is all on my head - it's _my_ fault. I pursued this. I encouraged his attraction to me."

"Come on, Hawke. That elf is crazy over you and you know it," Varric insisted.

"Oh, I know it like I know my own name. But that doesn't change anything." She turned to look at him and her eyes were wet.

"So you're going to do what, call the whole thing off?" he asked.

Hawke shook her head and looked at Varric with wistful eyes. "You can't call off love, Varric."

"Then what?"

"I'm going to see it through. I'm going to see it through _no matter what_."

"So you're not looking for advice? Or for some kind of help with this?" Varric asked in confusion.

"No. I'm looking for someone who will help me pick up the pieces if I fall. A friend."

He looked at her, and for the first time he truly saw her for who she really was. She'd lost her father, her home, her brother, and had effectively lost her sister. And yet here she was, ready to risk breaking her heart again instead of becoming callous or bitter. It wasn't facing down dragons, or a whole Deep Roads filled with darkspawn that showed him just how brave this woman was. _No_. He nodded. "I've got your back, Hawke. No matter what."

"Thank you, Varric," Hawke said, and a ghost of a smile curved her lips.

"So, when does our usually vivacious Hawke return to grace our presence?" he asked with a chuckle, trying to lighten the mood.

"She'll be a little easier to find now, thanks to you."

"Oh? How's that?"

"The thing about _no matter what_ is that it becomes a freedom. You've chosen. You've set your course. There's nothing to regret or bemoan. You _believe_ in it - so you stay with it, and hold that strong in your heart." She paused for a moment before looking over at him, and the determination in her eyes took him aback. "The only thing that stops you is death."

* * *

Hawke became very careful about spending time alone with Fenris. She brought Aveline or Isabela with her for their weekly practice sessions. In fact, she never went to his mansion alone anymore. She did spend a lot of time with him at the Hanged Man playing cards, and on their usual patrols along the coast or in the streets of Kirkwall at night.

Fenris noticed the change in her behavior and spent some time trying to discern its cause. Her treatment of him had not changed. She was still flirtatious and kind, and seemingly always aware of him. His eyes would search a room for her, only to find her looking at him in turn. She had kissed him twice – once in the hallway outside her door after they'd been drinking all night, and once after a particularly viscous fight with the Coterie in Darktown. He'd taken a dagger in the back, he'd actually stumbled to his knees – the first time that had ever happened to him. Hawk had used that trick with her boots to arrive at his side seconds later to backstab the assassin who'd stabbed him. She'd helped him to his feet, pulled him into her arms and, well, he'd forgotten all about the wound in his back until Varric had thrust a potion at him.

He did not believe she was no longer interested in him. No, all evidence was to the contrary. Was she afraid of him? Afraid he would harm her? He could not believe that, either. She trusted him with her life nearly every day; she always relied on him to keep the minions away from her while she went after the leader. He understood the firestorm that happened whenever they touched, and had been careful. Had always kept things under control. Fenris knew control. If he didn't control the lyrium under his skin with discipline and willpower, it would consume him.

He decided he would ask her. She would explain this new situation, and then he would understand and know what to do.

He found her in the Hanged Man, sitting at a corner table sipping at pint of ale. She noticed him immediately and gestured for him to join her with a smile and a wave.

"This is a pleasant surprise," she said once he had taken the seat next to her.

"I was looking for you," he replied. "I would ask you something."

"Ask away," she said lightly.

In a very Fenris-like manner, he went straight to the point. "For what reason do you avoid being alone with me?" There was no anger or accusation in his voice, but perhaps there was a hint of frustration.

Fenris watched as she colored, a nervous smile playing about her lips.

"I usually love your forthrightness, Fenris," she said with a small laugh.

"But not this time?" he asked.

She shook her head. "You shouldn't have had to ask. I should have talked to you about this, but I was," she paused and lowered her head, "I _am_ embarrassed."

This caused him some discomfort. What could Hawke have to be embarrassed about? "I do not understand," he said.

"No? I suppose you wouldn't." She looked down at her hands on the table. "It's just that… I mean it isn't… Why is this so difficult?" she looked up at him as if searching for the answer.

"If you would rather not talk about it…" he said, disappointed.

"No. I mean, yes." Her blush deepened. In a low voice she continued, "The simple truth is that I no longer…"

His stomach sank. She no longer cared for him? Wished to spend time with him?

Hawke must have read the look on his face because she reached for his hand under the table. "I am no longer able to stay out of the fire," she whispered. "Do you understand?"

He thought back to their conversation that night behind the wagon, under the shadow of the trees. The kiss they had shared. She'd said fire could destroy what was growing between them. That fire needed water to keep that from happening. Love's water, she'd said. He frowned. What did he know of love? He knew of desire. Desire was sitting next to him, holding his hand. But love? And then he understood. _Instruct me how not to break it_, he'd said to her. She was still trying to keep from destroying what was between them. His understanding expanded. She could no longer control her passion, therefore she could not afford to be alone with him. He almost laughed. To have a woman like Hawke want him that badly filled him with an unreasonable sense of pride. It also filled him with regret, that he could not give her what she deserved. The hate, the rage of what had been done to him remained a raging furnace inside of him. To unleash that... and then the final piece of the puzzle clicked. To unleash that could destroy them both.

He marveled for a moment that she should want anything to do with him at all, considering who and what he was. He wanted to give her reassurance that he would not disappoint her, not hurt her. But he knew he could not. He would never be truly free until Danarius was dead. He had nothing to offer her beyond this friendship.

He nodded and tightened his grip on her hand. "Perhaps we should play Wicked Grace?" he asked.

"A very good idea," she said, laughing. Her dark eyes looked at him in gratitude, and he thought perhaps he could find his way, after all. That perhaps someday he would be worthy of this remarkable woman.

* * *

"This is ridiculous," said Hawke. She, Varric and Fenris were crouched behind a stack of Orlesian crates, staking out a warehouse entrance. "What would the viscount's son be doing alone at the docks at night? You're information is suspect, Varric."

"Not this time, Hawke," Varric said, sounding wounded. "He's been seen entering this warehouse several times a week."

"An entrance we've staked out three nights in a row, without a single sign of him," complained Hawke.

"I told you the boy keeps an erratic schedule," grumbled Varric.

"Someone's coming," said Fenris in a low voice.

Someone was coming. A cloaked, hooded figure was descending the stairs to their right.

"That's him," said Varric.

"Wait here," Hawke told her companions and slipped from the shadows. As soon as he was within earshot she said, "Saemus."

The figure quickly turned and faced her, a short sword she hadn't noticed gripped tightly in his hand. "Stand back," he warned. The voice was most definitely Saemus Dumar.

Hawke lifted her hands to show she was no threat and said, "Saemus, it's Hawke."

"Hawke?" he asked, but did not lower his sword.

"We met last year when I saved you from the Winters," she said. "I would speak with you."

"How did you know?" he began, and glanced around at the deserted street. "Have you been following me?" he demanded, pointing the sword at her.

Hawke saw no reason to vacillate. It was obvious she'd been following him. "Yes, Saemus. I apologize, but I knew no other way to gain an audience."

"You could have come to the keep," he said, his tone still unfriendly.

"Seneschal Bran," was all Hawke said.

There was a short silence before he laughed, and Hawke relaxed a bit.

"Well, there is that," he said. "But this is hardly the time or place for a conversation."

"True. Could we arrange to meet at a more convenient time? One of your choosing, of course," Hawke said with a slight bow.

Saemus seemed to consider. She could just make out the gleam of his bright eyes from beneath the hood.

He nodded. "Tomorrow. I will meet you at the chantry at the noon bell," he said finally.

"Thank you," Hawke replied, then couldn't help but add, "Are you sure it's wise for you to be out here alone, Saemus?"

His tone was clipped as he replied, "That is certainly none of your affair, Serah Hawke." He turned to go. "I will see you on the morrow."

Hawke watched as he walked away and entered the warehouse without another word.

"I told you so, Hawke," said Varric as she rejoined her companions.

"Come on, let's get out of here," was her only reply.

* * *

_* paraphrased from a love letter written by Lord Byron to his lady, Caroline._


	8. Chapter 7

The smell and smoke of incense assaulted her senses when Hawke entered the Chantry at noon. She allowed her vision to adjust to the dim lighting, before moving into the cavernous hallway and scanned for any sign of Saemus. She eventually found him sitting in a pew on the upper level, head bowed in apparent prayer. She sat next to him and remained silent, waiting for him to acknowledge her presence. Finally, without turning, he asked in a hushed voice, "What can I do for you, Serah Hawke?"

Hawke had practiced what she would say to him, how she would argue her case and convince him to aid her. But now that she was here, it seemed a simpler matter. "I need your help," she said.

"Perhaps you could explain," he said, his head still bowed.

_Best dive straight in_, she thought. "My mother, Leandra Amell, has petitioned your father for the rights to her parents' estate. The estate has been empty since slavers were driven from it over a year ago. We have the coin to pay the taxes and a 400 year legacy of nobility in Kirkwall."

"Are you saying my father refused your petition?" asked Saemus. "Despite his views on _certain_ matters, he is usually a reasonable man."

_Certain matters being his son's involvement with the Qunari,_ thought Hawke. She sighed. "To be honest, Saemus, I doubt your father even knows of it."

"Ah, the seneschal."

"As you say."

For a time, they were both silent - Hawke being respectful, Saemus seemingly deep in thought.

"My sense of honor demands of me that I help you, Serah Hawke," he finally said. "And though that is reason enough, I would ask for your help in kind."

Hawke's heart lifted. He would help her! Cautiously, she replied. "It is you who honor me, Saemus. I would offer you any aid that is within my power."

He looked up at her then, the cerulean blue of his eyes faintly gleaming. "I have not told you what I would ask of you." There was a faint smile on his lips that made him all the more attractive.

Hawke remembered what Seneschal Bran had asked of her, and for a moment her heart fell again. She, however, thought better of Saemus Dumar, and would hear him out. "What would you ask of me?"

"The help I require is not for me, but for a friend," he said. "This friend is Kossith, he is Arvaarad, and his Karataam was felled by Tal'Vashoth."

_Uh oh_, thought Hawke, but she asked, "Kossith?"

"Most Qunari are Kossith, though not all. It is the race of the horned, gray skinned people," he replied.

"I thought they were called Qunari," said Hawke with a puzzled frown.

"Qunari is their religion, their philosophy. Anyone could be Qunari. You could," he said. "I could."

_Oh no I couldn't_, thought Hawke, but did not say so. "In what manner could I aid… Arvaarad?" she asked.

"They only way that the Arishok will allow Arvaarad to return to the Qun is by killing the Tal'Vashoth that felled his Karataam."

Hawke had killed quite a few Tal'Vashoth, and also one Karataam of Qun. But she didn't relish the idea of involving herself with the Qunari again, or risking the ire of the Arishok. "You want me to help him kill the Tal'Vashoth."

"Yes," Saemus nodded, "but first they must be found. Arvaarad has been in hiding."

"In that warehouse by the docks."

"If the Qunari find him, they will kill him on sight." Saemus paused for a moment, and his voice sounded sad as he said, "Even if he successfully kills the Tal'Vashoth, he will die by the hand of the Arishok. But his death will be of the Qun, and therefore honorable. Otherwise, his name will not be remembered."

"Wait," Hawke said, trying to wrap her head around what Saemus was saying. "The result is the death of Arvaarad either way?"

"Death within the Qun and death outside of it matter greatly to the Qunari. It is their only purpose," Saemus explained and sighed before continuing, "I cannot say I fully understand it either, Serah Hawke, but it is everything to Arvaarad and I would help him if I can."

"You honestly believe this is the right thing to do?" Hawke asked him. She understood the Qunari too little to make that judgment for herself. She had never really understood why the Saarebas Ketojan had killed himself because it was the _will of the Qun_. She would have to trust Saemus.

"I do, or I would not ask," he replied.

"Then I will help you."

Saemus gifted her with a genuine smile, which made even her otherwise engaged heart skip a little beat. _Oh, this one is trouble_, she thought.

* * *

While Hawke was meeting with Saemus Dumar, Fenris was busy pacing the floor of his mansion. In the weeks since their last private conversation at the Hanged Man, there had been no physical contact, no intimacy at all between them. He could understand, even agree with her reasons, but he did not like the situation at all. In fact, he disliked it. Immensely. It was utterly distracting. He found himself watching her instead of paying attention to his surroundings. He knew how dangerous that was, that hunters could easily catch him off guard if he were not diligent. And although there had been no sign of slavers in the months since their aborted trip to the nonexistent Torag estate, that did not mean they had given up. He knew Danarius would never give up while either of them stilled lived.

_Venhedis_.

His need to touch her was becoming unbearable. He was like a man dying of thirst when there was water within his grasp. And lately, he'd been consumed by a fascination with her neck. He'd watch her tilt her head back to drink a pint, and the desire to press his lips to the pulse at her throat would overwhelm him.

_Fasta Vaas._

This obsession was dangerous, yes. He understood Hawke's reasoning, yes. He wanted to honor her, yes. But the need she'd awakened in him was becoming a greater torment than anything he'd ever known. The difference was that it was not a painful torment, but rather a pleasurable one, and his craving for that pleasure was overwhelming _his_ reason.

Such was his state when he heard Hawke's voice drift up to him from the foyer. "Fenris?"

He didn't answer, but closed his eyes, and attempted to regain some control over himself.

He heard the soft padding of her boots on the tiled floor. "Fenris?" she called again.

Still, he could not answer. Perhaps she would leave if he remained silent. Her footfalls on the stairway told him she wasn't leaving - the opposite, in fact. She was breaking her own rule, and somehow that pleased him. He remained where he was; standing in the middle of the room, in the spot where he had stopped pacing when he'd heard her voice.

"Fenris," she said coming into his room, "I was worried when you didn't answer." She seemed nervous, her eyes looking everywhere but at him.

"I am here," he said hoarsely, "as you see."

"Yes, well, that's good," she replied finally resting her gaze on him. "Is something wrong?"

"You could say so," he replied.

"Maybe we should go…" she began, but he interrupted her.

"No."

"No?" She eyed him warily.

"I must…" He didn't really know what he must, but he began to move toward her. Something about the way he moved had her backing up a step.

"Fenris," she said, and there was real trepidation in her voice. "We agreed…"

"I want to renegotiate," he said coming closer.

"I explained why I can't… you said you understood."

Interrupting her seemed to be becoming a habit. "And now I will explain why I cannot honor the terms." He stood before her, looking down, his eyes ablaze, yet his hands remained at his sides clenched into fists. She looked up at him doe-eyed, then swallowed, bringing his attention to her neck. "Or perhaps I will show you instead," he growled.

In one swift movement, his hands grasped her shoulders and his mouth descended upon her neck. His lips found the pulse at her throat and he laved it with his tongue before sucking at the skin, pulling it between his lips. The salty, sweet taste of her skin flamed his desire even further. He began to trail soft, open-mouthed kisses up her neck, under her chin, and then back to that tempting spot where her life pulsed, it seemed as if for him alone. She stood perfectly still, not fighting him, but not touching him either. Her only reaction was the sudden weight in his hands when she could no longer stand on her own.

"Fenris, please," she whispered finally, and he did not know if she meant please stop, or please more, but he heard both the distress and the longing in her voice. He stopped his ministrations and brought his head up, leaning his cheek against hers.

"Hawke," he said at last. "Forgive me, but I cannot… I need this… I need you."

She brought her hand up to his other cheek. "We'll figure something out, Fenris." She pulled her face away from his and looked into his eyes with a yearning sadness. "For now, we really should go."

He noticed she said _we_ should leave and not _I_, and the knot that threatened to form in his stomach, the hint of fear that she would be angry over his actions, dissolved. He nodded. "All right." The taste of her lingered on his lips, and for now the overwhelming hunger for her had abated to a low hum in his belly.

Once they were walking down the long flight of stairs to the Chantry Courtyard, Hawke smiled and said, "Want to help me kill some Tal'Vashoth?"

"For you," he said, "anything."

* * *

"What's that on your neck, Hawke?" Varric asked. They were seated at Varric's long table, discussing plans to help Saemus' Qunari friend, when the dwarf asked the question out of nowhere.

Fenris smiled as he noticed the bruised skin on Hawke's neck, before her hand flew to cover it. Why did he like it so much that he'd left his mark on her?

"Must have scratched it, somehow," Hawke said, and her cheeks were pink.

Varric looked over at the smirk on the elf's face and said, "Mm hm, sure."

"As I was saying, we have to find them before we can help Arvaarad kill them. Any suggestions?" Hawke asked.

"Most of the Tal'Vashoth we've run into have been along the Wounded Coast," said Fenris.

"But how do we know which group killed the ox man's kara-whatever?" asked Varric.

"We're going to have to take him with us, and that means getting him out of the city," said Hawke.

"This feels like a repeat performance, Hawke," said Varric. "Are you sure we're not being set up again?"

"Until he proves otherwise, I have a good feeling about Saemus Dumar. I don't think he's the lying, manipulative type."

"Unlike a certain Chantry Sister," Fenris offered.

"I don't think her hand is in this," Hawke said. "I've arranged to meet with this Arvaarad tonight, and if all goes well, perhaps move him out of Kirkwall, as well."

"Who else are we bringing?" asked Varric. It was just the three of them around the table at the moment.

"Could you try and round up some volunteers, Varric? I'm supposed to have dinner with Mother this afternoon."

"I'm on it, Hawke. Meet back here at sunset?"

"See you then," Hawke said, and stood up to depart. She looked at Fenris meaningfully and he followed her out into the hallway.

"What is it?" he asked, tracing the mark on her neck with his finger.

"You're proud of it, aren't you," she teased.

"Yes, it is quality workmanship, indeed," he agreed and then asked, "Did you need something?"

"Just this," she said and kissed him lightly on the lips. "You're not the only one who's been suffering, Fenris."

And with that she was down the steps and out the door.

* * *

A little kissing and sucking about the neck, and all of her good intentions flew out the window. Hawke sat _not_ listening to her mother chat about her latest visit with Bethany. It's not that she didn't care enough to listen. It was that she was utterly distracted by what had happened at Fenris' mansion earlier. She could still feel his lips on her throat, as if he'd never stopped - as if the ghost of Fenris were following her around, kissing and nibbling on her neck, while she pushed the food around on her plate.

"Mari?" Leandra said, "I asked you a question."

"I'm sorry Mother." Hawke looked up to see her mother gazing at her curiously. "What did you ask?"

"What is that on your neck, Mari?" Leandra said with a frown.

"It's nothing," she said, hedging. "You know me, I'm always covered in bumps and bruises." She tried to laugh lightly and failed miserably.

"I know what that is, Mari." Leandra folded her arms over her chest. "So who is he?" When Hawke did not reply, Leandra continued, "Is it one of the ruffians you spend all your time with?"

Hawke sighed heavily. "I don't have time for this, Mother. I have to work tonight." She pushed her chair back and rose to leave.

"Marian Hawke, you will not walk out in the middle of a conversation!"

Hawke walked to the door, and with her hand on the knob she said, "If all goes well, I may have some good news for you tomorrow." She opened the door and left, her mother's voice following her into the night… "Mari!"

* * *

"_Sharedan_ Arvaarad," Saemus said to the grey giant standing before them.

"_Sharedan_, _kadan_," Arvaarad replied to Saemus.

"These are the allies I have brought to aid your quest." Saemus gestured to each of them as they were introduced. "Serah Hawke, Varric, Fenris and Guard Captain Aveline."

"Why would these _bas_ choose to help me?" asked Arvaarad. "They have no purpose."

_Great start_, thought Hawke.

"Serah Hawke and I are helping each other," replied Saemus.

"There is no exchange of coin?" The Qunari stood with his arms folded across his chest.

"No coin," said Saemus. "These _kadan_ have purpose, though they are not of the Qun."

"There is no purpose outside the Qun. But as they are _kadan_ to you, _basvaraad_, I will allow this."

Hawke knew _basvaraad_ meant _worthy of following_. Ketojan had called her such when she'd respected his choice to die, even after she'd saved his life from that other Arvaarad. What had Saemus done to earn that title? She doubted now was a good time to have that particular conversation.

"I can't believe you talked me into this, Hawke," Aveline said as they departed the warehouse and headed to the skiff they had waiting at a nearby dock.

"I wouldn't have asked, but Isabela wouldn't come, and I wasn't about to bring a mage. You know how Qunari react to unleashed mages," Hawke replied. "I appreciate your help Aveline."

"You owe me one after this," Aveline said. "Maybe two."

"Good luck, Serah Hawke," said Saemus. "_Panahedan_, Arvaarad." The two clasped hands.

"_Panahedan, basvaraad_," said Arvaarad.

The trip in the small boat to the wounded coast was tricky. Without Isabela, Fenris was the only one with any real boating experience, and that was slight. The whole thing was made worse because they only had the moonlight to guide them. They had several near misses with rocks jutting up through the water, and nearly capsized twice, but eventually pulled the skiff up onto a strip of sandy beach.

"Let's not do that again," said Varric.

"Agreed," said Aveline.

They settled in to wait for the dawn when they would begin the hunt for the Tal'Vashoth.

* * *

It had been a long day of searching dank caves, traipsing up rocky hillsides and investigating hidden coves. Hawke was beginning to worry they would have to spend another night out here, and they hadn't brought the supplies for that particular inevitability. Arvaarad seemed tireless - always in the lead and setting a pace that had them all exhausted. They had just finished a grueling climb up a rocky precipice, when Arvaarad lifted his hand, calling a halt.

"There," he said.

Below them in a small canyon, a large company of grey-skinned warriors, Tal'Vashoth no doubt, were mulling around. Hawke peered over a rock and watched as several of them sparred, while others leaned idling against the rock wall observing them.

Arvaarad gestured for the party to retreat. Hawke was not entirely comfortable allowing someone else to take the lead, but she'd agreed to help, and help she would.

"We will descend and come upon them from the other side," said Arvaarad.

Hawke would have preferred to throw a few grenades and force the Tal'Vashoth to come to them, but this wasn't her party. She nodded and the group descended.

From the start, the battle did not go well. Arvaarad's fighting techniques were not in synch with the ease in which her own group fought together. They were devouring elfroot potions at an alarming rate, and no amount of stamina potions could counteract the effects of their exhausting day. She'd lost track of Varric, and could only hope he'd taken to higher ground. Arvaarad's axe had removed quite a few Tal'Vashoth heads, and Aveline and Fenris doggedly attacked the front line. Hawke stealthed around and behind her opponents, taking them down one at a time with a quick thrust of her blade. Without the added help of her boots, Hawke didn't think she would have lasted nearly as long.

She was coming up behind the Tal'Vashoth Sten, daggers lifted for the killing blow, when a hot pain exploded in her back. _Blast_! she said, or maybe only thought, because the edges of her vision were going dark and she could feel her legs give way beneath her. The last thing she heard was Fenris shouting "No!" before all faded into black.

* * *

Faraway voices.

Jostling.

Someone shouting.

Darkness.

She was afraid to open her eyes. The last time she had tried, it had been to the skewed images of the Fade. _Am I dead_, she'd wondered? But before she could make sense of her surroundings, she'd slipped back into darkness. Now, she thought perhaps she wasn't dead because her upper back felt as if it were on fire. She was laying on her stomach, she knew, her head titled to the side. She felt something soft under her cheek and decided to risk opening her eyes again.

White. Everything was white. What did that mean? She searched the snowy field of her vision, looking for some hint of color, or texture. Wait. The white wasn't solid; it was layered in strands, subtly shifting into silver and ivory in the flickering light. Hair? White hair?

"Fenris?" she croaked.

Immediately his green eyes replaced his white hair, as Fenris as lifted his head.

"Hawke," he said. "You are awake." The relief in his voice was palpable.

He was sitting in a chair by her bed, and had been resting his head on his folded arms.

"Wh-what…?" Her throat felt raw and it was difficult to get the words out.

His hand came to her cheek and rested there gently. "You took a spear in the back. We brought you back here. The abom… the _mage_ left not long ago."

"The others?"

"Arvaarad is dead, killed by Tal'Vashoth. Varric and Aveline are in the other room. Varric took a bad blow to the head, but will recover."

"How… did I…" she couldn't finish, but heard Aveline's voice from the doorway.

"Fenris carried you. Maker knows how did it, wounded as he was," the guard captain said, approaching the bed. "He wouldn't let anyone else touch you."

"Fen.." she tried.

"Do not worry. I am healed," he said stroking her cheek.

Hawke heard the clomp of Varric's boots approaching as well. "That's the last time I go into battle when you aren't leading us, Hawke."

Hawke could just see the outline of Varric's head, wrapped in bandages.

She wanted to ask more questions, but the darkness was once again creeping across her vision and she felt herself slide back into unconsciousness.

The next time she woke, her mother was sitting by her bed doing needlework.

"Mother," she said. It was somewhat easier to talk this time.

"Mari, my Mari," Leandra dropped her embroidery and knelt beside the bed, stroking Hawke's hair with her hand. "Why must you put yourself in such danger, my darling? You've had me worried sick."

"I'll be alright, Mother." Her voice was still croaky, but at least she could speak whole sentences.

"I think she's ready for another round," said Anders. Hawke hadn't known he was there. She wanted to ask where Fenris was, but thought better of it.

Leandra moved away as Anders approached. "Stay very still, Hawke. Try not to move at all," he said

For a while there was nothing but a deep thrumming in her ears and the white-blue light of Ander's healing spell. The fire in her back increased to the point where she thought she might scream, and just when she thought she _would_ scream, the pain began to recede and the fire abated to no more than an uncomfortable warmth.

Anders collapsed into a chair, his hand rubbing at his temple. Leandra rushed back to Hawke's side and took one of her hands in both of her own. "How do you feel?" she asked.

"Like I took a spear in the back?" Hawke quipped.

"Don't joke, Mari. This isn't funny!"

"Sorry, Mother."

"She should rest now, Leandra," said Anders. "Let the healing do its work."

This time Hawke fell asleep of her own accord.

The third time Hawke awoke, a single candle dimly lit the room, and she thought she was alone. She began to push up with her arms, determined to sit up.

"What are you doing?" It was Fenris.

She continued to struggle, to push herself up from the mattress, until she heard Fenris say, "_Festis bei umo canavarum_!" and he was lifting her into his lap. The first thing she noticed was that he wasn't wearing the pointy bits of his armor, which allowed her to lean her head quite nicely on his shoulder. The second thing she noticed was the lines of exhaustion around his eyes as he gazed down at her. The third thing she noticed was how wonderful it felt to be in his arms.

"What does that mean, anyway? It's the second time you've said that to me."

"It means, _you will be the death of me_."

"Not literally, I hope," and she smiled at him.

He returned her smile. "No, not literally. Although yesterday was a near thing."

"Tell me what happened."

Fenris told her of watching her go down, but before he could get to her Arvaarad was there cleaving the Sten with his axe. In the next moment five spears had hit the already wounded Arvaarad, and he too fell to the ground, dead. Varric was nowhere to be seen, and it was all he and Aveline could do to kill the remaining Tal'Vashoth. They'd found Hawke lying half under Arvaarad, bleeding from the wound in her back, the spear still protruding. Fenris had pulled the spear out with his phasing ability, and they'd done their best to stop the bleeding with an injury kit. Once Varric was found and the wound on his head patched up, Fenris had carried her back to Kirkwall to her room at the Hanged Man. Aveline had fetched Anders, and well, she pretty well knew the rest.

"It was a disaster," Fenris said.

"Has anyone seen Saemus?" Hawke asked.

"Aveline sent him a message, but he has not responded."

"Thank you for saving me," she said and lifted a hand to his cheek.

"Hawke," Fenris said. He bent his head, and his eyes bored into her in the most enticing manner. She lifted her chin in encouragement, and he pressed his mouth to hers. The kiss was gentle, soothing, and yet she could feel herself responding to him with a passion only he had ever inspired in her. He'd just moved his mouth down to her neck when there was a soft tapping at her door.

Fenris gently set her back on the bed and moved to answer it. A hooded figure stood there, and it was Saemus' voice that asked, "How is she?"

Fenris opened the door wide and motioned for Saemus to enter, before closing it behind them.

Saemus removed his hood and stood by Hawke's bed. "I'm glad you are recovering, Serah Hawke. I feared for your life from the report the guard captain sent me."

"I've been well cared for Messere," she said.

"As I see," he said, as he glanced at Fenris. "I have spoken to the Arishok, and Arvaarad has been declared _Qunoran Vehl_. He has found the honor in death that he sought." Saemus looked down before adding. "I'm sorry the cost was so high."

"I'm sorry you lost another friend, Saemus," was Hawke's soft reply.

Saemus shook his head. "Qunari have no regrets. I'm trying to understand their certainty, to find that purpose. I do not know that I am capable."

"Why, Saemus?" Hawke asked. She was genuinely curious why someone who had all the advantage and privilege Saemus enjoyed, would be drawn to the rigid philosophy of the Qun.

"Political life is empty of meaning. It is a game of power and deceit – deals behind closed doors and hyperbole to keep the masses assuaged. It leaves me cold." He looked back at her. "I've never seen anything like the strength of belief inherent in the Qun."

Hawke was surprised when Fenris spoke, "They are also ruthless and without mercy to their enemies. They slaughter without question or compromise."

"Sadly, that is not unique to the Qunari."

"True," said Fenris.

Saemus pulled a rolled parchment from the folds of his cloak. "But enough of politics and philosophy, I have something for you." He handed her the parchment.

She looked up at him, "Is this…?"

"Yes, the title to the Amell Estate, signed by Viscount Dumar," Saemus said with a smile. "Congratulations, Serah Hawke."

"Thank you, Saemus," Hawke replied, and gave him her best smile.


	9. Chapter 8

Hawke left the restoration of the Amell estate to her mother. She was in no hurry to move to Hightown, having grown comfortable in her little room at the Hanged Man. Considering the state the mansion was in, it would likely be many months before they could call it home and that suited her just fine.

Hawke had bigger fish to fry.

There was a certain Tevinter elf who was entirely too handsome, smart and sexy for his own good. The dangerous emotional ground between them, the place filled with trip-wires and snares and dormant firebombs waiting to explode, seemed to be simmering well below the surface these days. For the most part it was only when Merrill or Anders were present that Fenris became sullen and moody. Yet Hawke could hardly blame him, for they were visceral reminders of what he had suffered at the hands of the Magisters.

Anders would often wax poetic, trying to convince Fenris that mages were treated as badly as slaves, but was that true? Perhaps they were in some cases, but to Hawke's mind the plight of the mages was more about imprisonment rather than being denigrated to the state of being someone's property. Bethany's letters did speak of the hardships inherent from being in the circle, but she was also wrote of making friends, teaching children, and even remarked that most of the Templars seemed of a mind to help the mages, not control them. It was a complex situation at best, the plight of the mages. Slavery, on the other hand, was purely evil - a true abomination in every sense.

There had been no return of slavers to Kirkwall since they'd freed that group of elves last year. Yet she wouldn't say that Fenris had relaxed. No, he was always a little twitchy, watching over his shoulder; distrustful of every new person they met, never without the great sword she'd given him strapped to his back. None of that had changed.

Her problem was that Fenris was becoming very adept at smoldering glances, sly kisses and wayward touching. He kept her in a permanent state of semi-arousal. She loved it and it drove her crazy, both at the same time.

Since her recovery, she had continued her practice of not being alone with him. Fenris had simply found ways around that obstacle. A finger trailed along the line of her neck - a nip of his teeth on her earlobe - the slide of his hand across her hip. More often than not it was simply the soft press of his lips to hers in the hallway outside of her room, or any other place where there were no eyes upon them. She felt like a flower being teased by a particularly persistent butterfly, always dipping in for a touch or a taste, leaving her always and forever wanting more.

While she was plagued with nightly dreams that left her shivering and moaning, Fenris seemed almost sanguine about the current state of affairs. He did not press her for more - did not attempt to trick or cajole her into being alone with him. The only time he'd become surly was if he'd had no opportunity to touch her at all for several days. It was almost as if he received some kind of sustenance, or an ease from his pain, from his playful teasing and touching.

Hawke sighed loudly.

"What's wrong, sweet thing?" Isabela purred at her. "Have an itch you need scratching?" Isabela slid along the bench to sit closer to Hawke. "I can help with that."

Hawke was playing cards with Isabela and Merrill, while thoughts of Fenris ran through her mind. Needless to say, she'd been losing mightily.

"Ooo," squealed Merrill. "I hope it's not fleas. They're so hard to get rid of."

"I don't have an itch," Hawke said, shooing Isabela away with her hand.

"Liar," said Isabela with a wink.

"Having fleas is nothing to be ashamed of, Hawke," persisted Merrill. "I have some powder that gets rid of them if you'd like to borrow it."

"Merrill, I don't have fleas, I promise," Hawke said, trying to keep the impatience out of her voice.

"If you say so," Merrill hummed, discarding a card.

Isabela promptly picked the card up and laid down her hand. "I'm down," she said and reached to scoop up the small pile of coins on the table.

"And I'm done," said Hawke tossing her cards down.

"But it's early yet," Isabela complained.

"I have an early appointment." Hawke rose from the table. "Good night, ladies," she said with a small bow.

"Spoil sport," said Isabela, but blew her a kiss.

"Good night, Hawke," said Merrill. "I hope the fleas don't keep you awake."

Hawke didn't even try. Once Merrill got an idea in her head, attempting to change her mind was a wasted effort.

* * *

On the verge of sleep, on the borderlands of the fade, the insight appeared in her mind fully formed. Why was Fenris content with a situation that was driving her to distraction? How was he able to keep himself under such a tight rein? How could he be satisfied with a cup of water when there was an entire ocean to swim in?

Why? Because he had never been free to want _anything_ for himself. He'd never had the opportunity to pursue his dreams and desires. Everything had been forced upon him, and control was the only thing he _could_ choose. His only choices had been whatever his master decided _for_ him; his only goals were to keep his reactions, his feelings, his needs buried deeply inside himself, where his master could not see them and punish him for them. Or use them against him.

He was expressing himself with her, allowing himself to pursue something that brought him pleasure. But always pleasure in measurable bits, always just enough to assuage, never enough to break open the wall of control that kept him safe from the torment of so many years of cruelty inflicted upon him. Inflicted upon him by a mage, and by the perverted use of magic.

Hawke remembered that first night he had allowed her to touch him in kindness – hold his hand in comfort.

_Why would I deserve such a thing?_ He had asked.

_Oh Fenris_, she thought. _If only I could show you what you truly deserve_.

That night her dreams changed. In them she was massaging the tight muscles in his back, running a brush through his hair, and feeding him bits of cake and sips of wine. She spent the entire night showering him with attention and affection. And yet when she awoke in the morning, her need of him was just as strong inside of her.

What was she going to do?

Hawke's early appointment was with Hubert, her business partner in the Bone Pit Mine. She met him at his stall in the Hightown Market.

Hubert got straight down to business. "Apparently the miners have found something strange in a tunnel they've recently opened. I need you to investigate."

"Strange in what way?" Hawke asked.

"I don't know, damned miners would not say. Jansen, the one you saved from the dragon? He asked for you specifically," Hubert replied.

"All right, Hubert, I'll go check it out."

Hawke returned to the Hanged Man to find Varric, Aveline, Isabela and Fenris gathered around Varric's long table, arguing in whispered voices.

"What's going on?" she asked, striding into the room. She thought they all looked rather guilty.

"Hawke!" said Varric. "What did Hubert want this time?"

"Don't change the subject, Varric. What were you all whispering about?"

"Oh, you know. The usual. Mages, Templars, Qunari."

Hawke narrowed her eyes. They were up to something. "You know I'll find out," she said, folding her arms across her chest. When they all remained silent, she relented. "Fine, have it your way. Who wants to go out to the Bone Pit with me?"

"That place is cursed," said Fenris.

"Does that mean you'd rather not go?" asked Hawke.

"Of course I will go, if you need me," he replied.

"I do," said Hawke. "Anyone else?"

"I'll go," said Anders from behind her. "I could use the exercise."

Hawke nodded to Anders as he walked by her. "One more would be good,"

"Oh, all right, I'll go," said Isabela with a frown. "But that place stinks."

"Good," said Hawke. "Meet back here in an hour, ready to head out."

* * *

Fenris was glad he'd agreed to go after Anders had volunteered. He did not like Hawke being anywhere near the abomination, but if he was with her, at least he could protect her if the mage lost control. Eventually, mages always lost control, he knew.

Hawke had been looking at him oddly all morning. A penetrating gaze that seemed determined to see into his very soul. Not a place he wanted her to see; his soul was a tainted, damaged place filled with rage and hate. He was usually able to distract her from that place inside of him, with a touch of his hand, a caress of his lips. But there had been no opportunity for that this morning. The mage had stuck to her side like glue, chattering away about mages and freedom and the abuses of Templars.

"Bah," the sound escaped from his lips before he realized it.

"Something wrong, Fenris?" Hawke asked him as they walked along the narrow path that led to the Bone Pit.

It was easy to prevaricate, considering where they were. "This place is vile. The stench is terrible."

"You didn't have to come," said Anders. "We could have handled it without you."

Fenris thought_, as if I would allow Hawke to be alone with you_, but said nothing. He saw Hawke shoot Anders a sharp glance, but she too remained silent.

Jansen was sitting with a group of miners, and stood when they approached. "There's our hero!" he exclaimed happily. "I knew you'd come."

"What seems to be the problem?" asked Hawke.

Jansen motioned for her to follow him. "We were clearing an old tunnel – hadn't been mined in years."

They entered the mine, and the foul odor of the place assaulted their senses. Isabela gagged. "Pardon me," she said from behind her hand, which was attempting to cover her nose and her mouth at the same time.

They followed Jansen down several wide tunnels and into a narrow side passage. "Here," he said and gestured to a door set into the wall. "It won't budge."

Hawke studied the door, and ran her fingers across intricate lines set into the facing. "Is this…" she began.

"Lyrium," Anders confirmed. "The door's been sealed by magic."

"Can you open it?" she asked the mage.

"I can try to negate the spell, but it will only be temporary," he said.

"I'll try picking the lock while you do that," said Hawke pulling out her tools.

Within minutes, they had the door open.

"Wait here, Jansen," she told the miner. "Let's go." Hawke led the way, and Fenris edged in front of the mage so that he was directly behind her.

The corridor was narrow, and lined with cut stone. Someone had built this; the architecture looked almost dwarven. The corridor opened up into a large, high-ceilinged room, which was apparently empty except for a scattering of old bones.

"Why seal a door with magic if there's nothing to guard?" she asked, scanning the room.

"I'm getting a bad feeling about this," said Isabela.

"Agreed," said Fenris.

"There is something… off," said Anders, using his staff to scan the walls with light. There were more lyrium lines etched into the surface.

Lyrium lines which began to glow.

"Maybe we should leave," Hawke said just as an explosion of light nearly blinded them all.

Shades began to rise up from the floor, the roar of a Rage Demon echoing throughout the chamber. The fight was on.

They had just dispatched the first group when a Revenant materialized along with another dozen or so shades. This group was much tougher, especially with the Revenant using its magic to pull them into the range of its massive sword. It took Hawke distracting it with a relentless assault from her daggers for Fenris to land the killing blow.

The assault kept coming. More shades rose up from the floor, and were joined by an Arcane Horror, spinning its arms.

"Spread out!" Hawke shouted before disappearing, only to show up seconds later behind the foul creature, daggers poised for a strike. Anders froze it with a shaft of ice, allowing Hawke to destroy the horror before it could get its spell off.

But there was no rest for the weary. Wave after wave of shades, demons and horrors kept coming relentlessly.

Fenris heard Hawke shout, "Retreat!" and he ran to cover her as they moved toward the narrow passage and back to the exit. He slammed the door behind them once they were all safely in the cavern.

"Maker, what's going on in there?" Hawke said, in between heaving breaths.

Jansen was looking at them all curiously. "What is it, Hero?"

"Stay out of this passage," she told him as she ushered everyone out, and back into the light of day. "We'll be back with reinforcements."

* * *

"I had the certain feeling that assault was never going to end," said Hawke. They were back in Kirkwall, walking through the Lowtown market.

"It was like an open doorway to the fade," said Anders.

"If that's the case, we need to shut the door," replied Hawke.

Fenris thought that was a good idea. "How can we do that?" he asked.

"Any ideas, Anders?" asked Hawke.

"You might want to ask the blood mage," he replied sarcastically. "She seems to be skilled in that area."

"Good idea, I'll talk to _Merrill_," she emphasized the young elf's name.

They had reached the Hanged Man when Hawke said, "I have a few things to take care of this afternoon. Let's all meet here tonight and strategize."

Fenris waited to see if she would enter the Hanged Man, but she surprised him by saying, "I've got to go up to Hightown, check on the workers for Mother. Care to join me?" she asked him.

He nodded and they proceeded toward the bridge, while Isabela and Anders entered the bar. Fenris noticed that Anders stared after them until they were out of view.

The Amell estate was only superior to Fenris' mansion in that there were no dead bodies in the hallway, and there was a marked lack of holes in the roof. Otherwise, it was pretty well a chaotic mess. Hawke and Fenris entered to the sound of pounding and sawing. The place filled with workmen and dust, equally it seemed. A short, stocky man with a shock of red hair came over to greet them.

"Serah Hawke, good to see you," he said as he grabbed her hand and pumped it vigorously. "The work is going well, as you can see."

Hawke couldn't see. The place looked like a disaster area to her eyes, but perhaps it was a case of it getting worse before it got better. "Yes, thank you Vorth," she said doubtfully, "very well indeed."

Vorth beamed. "Have a look around, just mind where you step."

She _could_ see progress. A new banister had been affixed to the main staircase, and several cracked windowpanes had been replaced on the upper level. She led Fenris into the solitary room on the topmost floor. "This will be my bedchamber," she said turning to face him.

"I seem to remember being in this room, before," he replied, stepping closer to her. "It holds fond memories."

Hawke, weary of months of keeping herself in check, gave him her best smile. "Very fond," she said.

Fenris removed his gauntlets and hooked them at his belt before reaching for her. She stepped into his arms, gladly. This time, she did not hold back. She poured all that she felt for him into the kiss, while she allowed her hands the freedom to sift through his lush hair, and yielded her body to the strength of the arms that encircled her waist.

Fenris lifted his head to gaze down at her, his eyes blazing. "Hawke?"

"It's like this for me every time you touch me," she whispered, peppering soft kisses along his jaw. "It's driving me mad."

With a low growl he reclaimed her mouth, and the kiss became a primal thing, each of them drinking deeply from the other. It went on and on, the world reduced to pure sensation. There were no thoughts to intrude, no worries or cares – just the taste of him, the thrust of his tongue in her mouth, the pressure of his hands on her hips. Again, it was Fenris who finally pulled back, though his hands did not leave her.

She gazed up at him, her eyes dark and heavy-lidded, love and longing plain on her face, a soft smile curving her bruised lips. She allowed him to see all of what she was offering - her heart, her body, her very soul.

The hint of fear in his eyes as he looked down at her was not unexpected, but still gave her pain. She began to gather herself together, rein in her feelings and allow her hands to drop to his shoulders. "You needed to know," she said, dropping a kiss lightly on the tip of his nose before pulling away entirely.

They left the mansion together, yet Fenris never said a word.

* * *

Fenris did not show up for their scheduled meeting that night. Everyone else was gathered around Varric's long table.

Hawke explained what they'd encountered at the Bone Pit that morning before asking Merrill, "Any ideas?" After considering her words for a brief moment, she added, "Ideas that don't involve blood magic, that is."

Merrill had the good grace to blush before she responded, "I know how to open a portal, not how to close one."

Hawke sighed in frustration. Right now she could really care less about some Maker-forsaken portal to the Fade. Her mind was on a certain Tevinter elf. _Focus, Mari_, she thought. "Anyone else?"

"You could bring this to the First Enchanter," suggested Aveline.

"Oh, that's a brilliant idea," said Anders. "Let's involved the Templars and the Chantry while we're at it."

"I'm afraid Anders is right, Aveline." Hawke ran a hand through her hair. "That's a bit more attention from people in authority than I'm comfortable with."

"It was just a suggestion," Aveline grumped.

In a small voice Merrill said, "We could ask Keeper Marethari."

"You'd be willing to do that, Merrill?" Hawke asked gently.

Merrill nodded, her eyes downcast. "I'll go with you, Hawke."

"Alright, we'll go tomorrow," Hawke said.

* * *

Fenris had returned to his mansion and opened a bottle of Danrius' wine. It was all he could think to do to relieve the tangled mass of emotion building in his chest. Kissing Hawke today, holding her, feeling the strength and depth of her passion… it had cracked open the fortress he'd built around his heart. Although at first only heat and pleasure had coursed through him, cruel pain and torture had soon followed. The nightmarish anguish planted inside of him by Danarius had been dormant, waiting only for the right trigger to unleash it. Today he had learned that there could be no heated passion without overwhelming pain. Hawke had withheld nothing, and he finally understood that the diversions of the past year had been only the smallest fraction of what was between them. His only partial glimpse of the true depth of their passion had been the night she had kissed him behind the wagon. The night Hawke had spoken of fire and water – passion and love.

Once he opened the third bottle of Aggregio, he felt he could breathe again. By the time he began the fourth bottle, he didn't feel anything at all.

Until…

"Fenris!" her voice came floating up to him. _Her_ voice, the only one he ever truly wanted to hear.

The anxiety began to build again; afraid she would make him _feel_.

"Fenris!" she said and came tromping into his room, her usual grace of movement overcome by her apparent agitation. She wrinkled her nose, noticed the empty wine bottles on the floor by his chair, the nearly full one in his hand, and said, "You're drunk."

"Thankfully, yes," he slurred. It was a growly slur, however. He offered her the bottle. "The last of the Aggregio."

She looked at the bottle doubtfully before bringing it to her lips. He watched her throat move as she swallowed, and was torn between the desire to kiss the pulse there, and the desire to run away as fast and as far as he could.

"Is this about this afternoon, Fenris?" she asked, handing the wine back to him.

"Yes… No… I…" he took another long drink because he didn't know what to say. He looked at her, trying to judge her mood, but her expression was a careful blank.

"It needn't happen again," she said. "Perhaps I erred in my judgment."

The thought of it never happening again brought him up short - cleared some of the fog from his mind. "It's not you…" he began, then shook his head sadly. "You do not know who I am, what I have done…"

She reached for the wine bottle and took another sip. "I'm not going anywhere," she said and sat down in the chair across from him.

He didn't want to relive the cruelties of the years he was _owned_ by Danarius. Didn't want to profane her ears with the depravities and savagery of his life as a slave. But there was one story he could tell her - one story that would let her know who he really was.

And he told her – of how Danarius had left him behind on the island of Seheron, wounded from saving his master's life. He spoke of the Fog Warriors who had rescued him and nursed him back to health: Strangers who had accepted him as one of their own.

"It was a completely new experience," he said. "I had not known such an existence was possible."

He could not look at her as he continued the next part of the story. The part where Danarius returned, and the rebels had refused to hand him over to the magister. He kept his eyes trained on the floor as he told Hawke of how one order from Danarius had erased the months of care and kindness that the Fog Warriors had shown him.

_Kill them, Fenris,_ Danarius had commanded.

"So I did, I killed them. I killed them all."

Now he raised his eyes to hers once more. "When I looked down at their bodies… I couldn't… I ran and I never looked back."

"So that's how you finally escaped Danarius, then?" Hawke asked, her voice carefully neutral.

"At first I wasn't sure if escape was possible. Did not know what that even meant."

"How long ago was this?" asked Hawke.

"Over two years ago," he said and reached for the wine bottle. He took another a long drink. "I am telling you this because… because you should know what I am. You should know who… who you…"

"I see," said Hawke.

"Do you?" he asked, his voice harsh. "What if Danarius walked into this room right now and ordered me to kill you? What do you think would happen?"

"I suppose the real question is, what you think would happen, Fenris."

"Looking at you right now, I believe I could never harm you," he said, and the pain in his voice was clear. "But these two years of freedom could weigh nothing against all the years of obeying my master's every order, every desire, every whim."

"What I offered you today, Fenris, that could be stronger than Danarius," she said softly. She rose and moved to him, taking his hand in hers. His markings began to warm.

"It is a terrible risk to you, Hawke," he said brokenly. "And I do not know what I can offer you in return."

"I only ask that you stay and try. I only ask that you give it a chance," she said and kissed the top of his head. "I put no other demands on you, Fenris."

Fenris looked up into her lovely face - a face filled with warmth and promise. He nodded, brought her hand to his lips, and pressed a soft kiss to her palm. It was all the answer he was capable of giving her.


	10. Chapter 9

Hawke was relieved to see Fenris arrive at the Hanged Man the next morning. The party was preparing for their trip out to Sundermount, where they would seek the council of Keeper Marethari. Merrill was nervous, more so than usual, which was saying something. Varric also decided to tag along, and the dwarf did his best to lighten the somber mood of the party, without much success.

"You know, this outdoor thing is growing on me, like a tumor," he commented as they trudged the winding path to the Dalish camp at Sundermount. "Not even a chuckle? A quirk of the lips? You people are no fun anymore."

"A tumor isn't fun, Varric," said Merrill. "I imagine they're quite painful."

"Exactly," Varric said. "I couldn't agree more. Painful."

The Dalish guards eyed them warily, but no one questioned them as they entered the camp and approached Keeper Marethari.

"Keeper," said Merrill, "you remember Hawke."

"_Da'len_," said Marethari. "You are well among the humans?"

"I am," said Merrill and lifted her chin in the air.

Marethari turned to Hawke. "_Anethara_ Serah Hawke, it is good to see you again."

"And you, Keeper," Hawke replied.

"Keeper," said Merrill, "Hawke has come to seek your council."

"A human seeking the council of the Dalish? This is an odd turn of events," said Marethari.

"It is an odd circumstance," said Hawke, and she explained the strange room they'd found at the Bone Pit.

"This is disturbing news," said the Keeper. "I have not heard of such a thing for many long years."

"We seek to close the portal, Keeper Marethari," said Hawke. "We hoped you would know how it might be done."

The Keeper turned away from the group for a moment, her head lowered. When she turned back to them, her eyes were troubled. "There is a way, but it is fraught with peril."

"Of course," said Hawke. "Fraught with peril, what else would it be?"

Keeper Marethari looked at Hawke with narrowed eyes. "It is no joking matter, serah."

"I meant no disrespect, Keeper." A slight blush tinged Hawke's cheeks. She really must learn to control her tongue in these situations.

Marethari nodded, accepting the apology. "There is a ritual, but it must be done with the portal open."

"Which means it must be done amid a roomful of demons, shades and horrors," said Hawke.

"Yes, that is the danger," said Marethari.

"Can you teach me the ritual?" asked Merrill.

"That depends," replied Marethari, "if you are willing to remain among the Dalish for the time it will take to teach you."

Merrill visibly squirmed. "How long will it take?"

"A week at least," replied the Keeper.

"A week?" Merrill exclaimed.

"The door is sealed with magic," said the Keeper. "You could leave it be."

"Innocent people are at risk," said Hawke. "_Leaving it be_ is not an option." She turned to Merrill. "Will you do this?"

Merrill held Hawke's gaze for a long moment before turning back to the Keeper. "Will the people have me here?"

"If I command it, yes," the Keeper replied.

Merrill lifted her chin and straightened her shoulders before she said, "Then I will stay and learn this ritual."

"I must prepare," said Marethari. "Return in three days time."

* * *

They made their way back to Kirkwall via the Bone Pit, where Hawke warned the miners again to stay away from the lyrium-etched door. After that small but important task, she had nothing to do but wait until Merrill was able to learn the ritual.

Back at the Hanged man, she paced her small room, while she held a debate with herself. Should she go seek out Fenris and attempt to talk to him about… well, about everything? What did she want to talk to him about, exactly? _Hey Fenris, it really doesn't bother me that you slaughtered a bunch of people who saved your life – people who cared about you._ Of course it bothered her. More importantly, it bothered Fenris - that was obvious. She'd like to tell him of the dream she'd had; the dream in which she had been a slave. Hawke shivered.

How could she possibly understand what it was like to have no will of her own? Her dream-life was vivid, yes – but it was not her _life_. Tonight, she was unlikely to dream it again. Yet it did feel like an experience, like she had some deeper glimpse into what Fenris' life might have been like.

She had no idea if he would want to hear anything she had to say right now. He'd been so quiet on the trip to Sundermount, and had gone alone to his mansion as soon as they'd returned to Kirkwall. That was yesterday afternoon, and now this morning she'd done nothing but pace the narrow confines of her room, arguing with herself.

She was bothered by her lack of confidence – this _uncertainty_ was unfamiliar territory. A thought struck her and she nearly laughed. Who knew that love would end up being the greatest challenge of her life? Maker knew her life had been challenging so far, and yet there had always been a clear path before her, a clear knowledge of the right thing to do. Right now the only thing she knew was that she'd made a commitment and there was no turning back. Her heart would allow her to do no less. But what steps were needed to reach her goal? She paused, thoughtfully. What was her goal, exactly? To win his heart? To free him from his painful past? To have him as her life, her love? Probably all of them. Yes, most definitely all of them.

"Hawke, what are you doing in there?" Varric's voice shouted from the other side of her door.

Hawke opened the door. "What?"

"It sounds like you've got a herd of halla in there," he said, craning his neck to see inside of her room.

She opened the door wider. "It's just me. I guess I was pacing."

"Pacing? Hawke, get your ass out here and have a pint with me. It will do you good." Varric walked back around the corner to his rooms.

Hawke smiled. A pint with Varric sounded like just the thing.

* * *

Not that she was counting, but Hawke was pretty sure she was up to five pints at this point, and it was barely past noon. Maker, was she going to pay later. For now, however, she was very happy to be shit-faced and playing Wicked Grace – oh all right, losing at Wicked Grace quite badly.

"I saw you put that card up you sleeve," she attempted to say sternly, but hiccupped and started to giggle.

"You're a funny drunk, Hawke," Varric chuckled.

"I'm not…" she hiccupped again, "drunk. Look, I can touch my nose." And she did, perfectly so. "See?"

"Ah, but I bet you can't walk a straight line," Varric teased her.

"I can!" She was sure. Hawke pushed back her chair and jumped to her feet. So far so good, it seemed. As soon a she she turned, she promptly tripped and fell over… and landed in the arms of a certain Tevinter elf. She looked up at him and smiled happily. "Fenris is here."

"Careful elf," Varric warned him with a wink, "she's had a few."

"Apparently," Fenris said, trying not to smile.

"Did you miss me?" she asked. "I bet you did."

"Ooh," said Varric, "this is going to be interesting."

Fenris attempted to help Hawke back into her seat, but she wasn't cooperating, and somehow she ended up more firmly draped over him.

"Hawke," he said torn between exasperation and amusement.

"Hmm?" She said, nuzzling against his neck. "You smell good."

"Maybe interesting was too mild a word," said Varric.

Fenris glared at Varric, then looked down at Hawke's contented face and seemed to come to a decision. He lifted her into his arms and carried her back to her room.

He heard Varric chuckle and say, "I guess it's a private show," before Fenris shut the door.

Hawke had progressed from nuzzling to kissing and licking. "Hawke," he tried again to get her attention. The lyrium in his neck was growing warm, and her attentions were breaking down his newly formed resolve to keep his hands off of her.

"You taste good, too," she said against his throat.

And she bit him.

And he liked it.

He closed his eyes, struggling against the warring desires within him. Finally, he sat down with Hawke in his arms on the edge of her bed and took her chin in his hand. He moved her mouth away from his neck. "Hawke," he said yet again.

"Fenris," she sighed his name and gazed up at him adoringly.

"_Festis bei umo canavarum_," he muttered.

Hawke waggled her finger at him. "I know what that means, now."

"What shall I do with you?" he asked softly.

"Whatever you like," she said. She leaned her head against his chest, closed her eyes and sighed.

Unable to think, to move - literally paralyzed by her words, he sat holding her in his arms until minutes later, her breathing evened out and he knew she'd fallen asleep. Gently, he slid her onto the bed, and other than one soft moan of protest when he slid is arm from beneath her, she remained unconscious.

_Whatever you like_, she'd said. _Venhedis_, he knew what he'd like - very clearly and in great detail. That was the trouble.

He moved a bucket from the corner, set it next to her bed, then closed the door to her room with a soft click, and returned to Varric. He could use a pint himself right about now.

Varric took one look at him and asked, "What's that on your neck, elf?"

Fenris glowered as he took a seat.

"Did she bite you?" Varric asked with a grin.

Fenris just stared at him.

"You know, I don't know whether to envy you or feel sorry for you," Varric said, giving the elf a considering look.

Fenris narrowed his eyes. "How so?" he drawled.

"It's Hawke," Varric stated matter-of-factly. "Well, it will never be boring anyway."

"Varric…" Fenris began, but Varric waved him off.

"Don't worry, Hawke got me to swear on Bianca."

"She did, did she?"

"Yes, so my mouth stays shut."

"Good to know," Fenris said, and leaned back in his chair. He picked up Hawke's discarded pint and took a sip.

"Wicked Grace?" asked Varric cheerfully.

* * *

"Where's Hawke?" Anders asked as he came in and took the seat across from Fenris.

"In her room, sleeping off a few pints too many," replied Varric. "Deal you in?"

"Only if you crack a new deck, I can see the marks on those cards from here," said Anders.

Suddenly Fenris understood his unusual unlucky streak and began examining his cards.

"Is she sick? Does she need healing?" Anders asked.

Before anyone could answer there was a loud thump from the direction of Hawke's room. Fenris and Anders both jumped to their feet, while Varric sat shaking his head and chuckling. Fenris glared and shouldered Anders out of his way and was opening Hawke's door before Anders had entered the hallway.

Hawke was on the floor, head bent over the bucket. She heard him come in, tilted her head to look at him and said, "Not again," before retching into the bucket.

Anders came in then, and strode purposefully to her. "I'll have you fixed up in no time," he said.

They were both surprised at Hawke's vehement, "No!"

Anders stepped back, his hands dropping to his sides. He said, "Hawke, let me help you."

Hawke shook her head, a low moan in her throat. "Father said," she began, retched some more and continued, "Father said it was an abuse," she swallowed hard, "of magic. Never use magic…" she heaved, "to fix your own stupidity." She rested her head on the side of the bucket, breathing hard.

"Smart man," muttered Fenris. He went to the washbasin and dipped a soft cloth lying next to it into the cool water, which he then pressed against Hawke's forehead.

"That's just silly," said Anders. "Why suffer needlessly?" He watched Fenris with obvious dislike.

"Suffer… consequences," was Hawke's reply, "is good."

Varric came in and said, "Still can't hold your liquor, huh Hawke?"

Hawke moaned. "Just go away," she said into the bucket.

They all made to leave, but her hand gripped Fenris' wrist and he resumed his perch on the edge of the bed.

"Come on, Blondie," Varric said, "I think the elf has things under control."

"Apparently so." said Anders, disgust clear in his tone. Yet he followed Varric through the door.

"I wanted… to apologize," Hawke said. "I seem to be making a habit of this."

"Yes, you do," he said, "I wonder why?" The soft stroke of his hand down her neck and across her shoulder took any sting out of his words. His need to touch her had not diminished, he was just finally aware of the real danger in doing so.

"Getting drunk or throwing up?" she asked, looking up at him wryly.

"With you, those two things seem to go together."

"It always seems like a good idea, but it usually ends just this way," she said with a depreciating laugh. "Eww." She rose and pushed the bucket into a corner, then covered the top with a cloth. She scooped a handful of clean water from the basin and rinsed out her mouth.

Hawke sat next to him on the bed, her hands restless in her lap. He watched her warily, wanting to leave, wanting to stay - two parts of himself that he could not reconcile. When she looked over at him, her eyes grew wide and she lifted a finger to his neck.

"Did I do that?" she asked, pointing to the love bite.

"You do not remember?" he asked, a hint of a smile on his lips.

"I thought I was dreaming." Hawke shook her head. "Obviously not." She sighed. "I keep making a mess of things." She looked away. "Tell me what to do, Fenris," she said softly. "I don't know what to do."

"I cannot," he said, keeping his hands at his sides even though he longed to reach out and run a finger down her cheek - remove the sadness and uncertainty from her eyes. "It is dangerous for me to be near you and impossible for me to stay away." He paused. "I never thought I would want anyone, need anyone this way. I thought I was better off alone. Until you."

"There hasn't been anyone else?" Hawke whispered, the surprise in her voice apparent. "I would have thought…"

"I've never allowed anyone too close. When my markings were created, the pain was extraordinary, and the memory lingers." He paused. "If there was someone before, I have no memory of it."

"And since you escaped?" she asked softly.

"I stayed nowhere for long. Who would I trust? But you… are unlike any woman I've ever known." He couldn't stop himself, he reached out and took her hand. "With you… almost from the first, something felt… different."

"Yes," she agreed. "From the first." She brought his hand to her lips and kissed his fingers lightly. "The question hasn't changed. What do we do?"

"I do not know," he said, and then was able to say what he hadn't been able to tell her the day before. "But I will not leave you."

**From the Journal of Varric Tethras**

Hawke almost caught us planning her Name Day party. I distracted her with some bullshit about mages, Templars and Qunari, but she didn't buy it. Lucky for me, the trip out to the Bone Pit had her distracted and she forgot that she caught us hatching plans behind her back. Fortunately, Daisy didn't have to leave for her week among the Dalish until the day after Hawke's Name Day.

I hired the same musicians we had for Sandal's hero party, and the same caterer. The only difference is that there will not be so many pies. A drunk Hawke is highly entertaining (especially when the elf's around). I'll write more after the party. This should be good...

Let me tell you, it was tricky keeping Hawke away long enough to set up the festivities. Isabela managed it by having Hawke help her search out some old stash that she said might contain that relic's she's been hunting for all these years (that's another story entirely.) Turned out to be an old boot and some badly written poetry. Hawke didn't let our Rivaini live that one down.

It was all worth it to see the look on Hawke's face when she walked in the door. Hawke, she's a looker, but when she smiles – well, you've heard the expression _achingly beautiful_? Yeah, like that.

The music started up and the pints began to flow and everyone was dancing and laughing. But I noticed (because it's my job as an observer and storyteller) that Hawke's eyes kept drifting to the door. Why? Because a certain elf hadn't shown up yet.

By the time he did, Hawke was – well if not exactly drunk, well on her way there. The elf walked in the door and stood there by that thing – the one near the entrance that is sort of sparkly? I have no idea what that thing is for. It's weird.

Anyway, the elf is standing there with his hands behind his back, when Hawke sees him. I swear, her eyes literally lit up. It was almost like Anders when Justice shows up, but not creepy.

Hawke disentangles from her dance partner, some fancy-pants Hightown dandy that likes to slum with us Lowtowners, and walks with a Rivaini-like swagger over to the elf. She stops in front of him, lifts her chin and says, "Do you have a kiss for the Name Day girl?" I said she was working on drunk, didn't I? Hawke is a funny drunk, but also amorous - like I said, at least when the elf's around.

Here's where it gets good. That broody, mopey, cantankerous elf brings his hand out from behind his back and he's holding a single red rose.

Hawke looks at the rose, then up at his face. She does this several more times, maybe ten, but I might be exaggerating - it's been known to happen. She takes the rose from him and brings it to her nose, inhaling deeply. At this point the room has gone quiet, or at least that's how I remember it, but it could be that exaggeration thing happening again, you never know.

Hawke's a funny drunk, as I keep reminding you, and also amorous, which I also mentioned, so it was no surprise to me when she tucked the rose into her bodice, cradled the elf's face in her hands and kissed him.

_Andraste's ass_, I have never seen a kiss like that one, and I've seen hundreds, maybe thousands, but you know me, I might be stretching the truth just a bit. But I'm not kidding when I say that kiss had everyone in the bar mesmerized.

It wasn't that it was racy or lewd. That would have been the usual fair for a night at the Hanged Man – lots of lurid kissing in corners.

How can I describe what made it different? This is really putting my storytelling powers to the test. Hmmm. Here's what it seemed like to me:

_The music faded into the background, becoming low and melodious. The room went dark except for a soft spotlight that shone on Hawke and her elf. They barely moved, her hands on his face, his at her hips, but their expressions, well I know it sounds corny but the expressions on their faces were pure, unadulterated bliss._

I don't think it actually lasted that long, but it felt like hours before she slowly, every so slowly ended the kiss and pulled him onto the makeshift dance floor. Time resumed its normal speed, the lights went back up, but the music stayed low and melodious. They swayed in each other's arms, oblivious to the rest of us.

Which wouldn't have made for much of a _party_, if things had stayed that way.

I decided it was time for presents.

The same old seven of us gathered around a long table. Hawke was beaming, that rose still tucked into her bodice, making it kind of hard to look anywhere else. She was squashed between Rivaini and the elf, and I seriously don't know if I've ever seen her look so happy, and our Hawke is no moper.

Daisy went first, blushing all the way to the tips of her cute little, pointy ears as she handed Hawke a woven bracelet.

"Merrill, it's beautiful! Did you make it yourself?" Hawke asked.

"Oh no, that's not my hair. Mine is black. That's from a halla. Their hair is white, silly."

Hawke laughed. "I meant, did you weave it?"

"Of course I did," Merrill explained. "Halla's can't weave!"

Hawke gave up. Eventually, we all do. She slipped the bracelet onto her wrist and held it up for everyone to see. "I love it," she said smiling. Yup, that achingly beautiful thing again. Sometimes I think we're all half in love with Hawke.

Rivaini went next. Whoa boy, it was something to watch as our favorite pirate wench grabbed Hawke by the ears and planted a kiss right on her lips. I thought the elf was going to start glowing and ripping out organs. _Rivaini's liver, anyone?_ But before he could do more than glower, Rivaini released Hawke and said with a sultry laugh, "I didn't get around to buying anything."

Right, I know Rivaini - she never intended to buy a present. She'd been looking for an excuse to kiss Hawke for years.

Hawke just looked confused and said, "Thank you, I think." Everyone laughed but the elf. He was too busy glaring.

Aveline gave Hawke a beautiful silver and gold pin shaped like (what else?) a hawk. Hawke handed it to Fenris to pin on her bodice, which seemed to improve his mood.

It was my turn then. I'd spent a lot of time choosing her present. It was a very small, very sharp little knife in a leather sheath – the kind lady's wear high on their thighs. It was a good choice. Hawke loved it and immediately stood and lifted her leather skirts to strap it on, just as I'd hoped she would. You could have heard a pin drop while that was going on. Let's assume Fenris glowered some more. I don't know for sure because I was too busy looking _elsewhere_.

Blondie, poor sod, is always low on coin. He's either sinking it into his clinic or losing it to one of us playing Wicked Grace. He gave her a padded pouch used to store potions. No one mentioned that we'd all seen him wearing on his belt for years.

I guess we all assumed that the rose was Fenris' gift to Hawke, and everyone started to get up from the table to resume the merrymaking. So maybe I'm the only one who noticed him slip something into her palm. I never got a look at whatever it was, because her hand was cupped around it. She slipped it into her bodice (that bodice was getting a lot of action) where it disappeared from sight, before kissing the elf on his cheek. There came his good mood again.

Hawke, Maker bless her, decided downing a few more pints was a good idea. She also must have thought singing Ferelden drinking songs with Rivaini and Anders was pretty brilliant. Up on a table. Doing some sort of stomping dance thing. It was hilarious up until the moment she lost her footing and went into a nosedive. Well, that was pretty funny too, and since the elf came out of nowhere and caught her, no harm done.

"I was just wishing you would hold me in your arms," she said looking up at him adoringly. She does adore that elf, even if the rest of us can't quite figure out why. Well, except for Rivaini, but her motives are different than Hawke's, I'm pretty sure.

The elf says to her, "Happy to oblige." And he's smiling! Only time that broody son-of-a-bitch ever smiles is for Hawke. Well, and once when Anders tripped in the sewers that time we went looking for that Templar Emeric, and Blondie landed in a steaming pile of poop. Still makes me chuckle just thinking of it, and I'm fond of the sodding mage.

So, Fenris makes to set her down, but she's got her arms all wound around his neck and won't let go. If Corff hadn't chose that moment to bring out the cake, who knows what would have happened?

Of course there was a cake fight, and soon everyone was covered in sticky yellow icing - people were grabbing fistfuls and stuffing it into their mouths. Poor Bianca, I had to put her to bed to keep her out of harm's way. When I came out of my room to head back downstairs, there were Hawke and Fenris in the hallway outside of her room. Hawke was licking the icing off of the elf's face, while he was trying to capture her mouth with his. It was almost comical, if it hadn't been so sexy.

"Eh em." That was me, interrupting them.

They both gave me the evil eye at first, but then Hawke laughed, grabbed Fenris' hand and pulled him back downstairs to the party.

Personally, I would call Hawke's Name Day a rousing success. But maybe that's just me.

* * *

When Merrill finally returned from her week with the Dalish, it was with a sad face and haunted eyes. She'd barely taken two steps inside the door of the Hanged Man before Isabela had an arm around her, cooing, "What's wrong Kitten? You look like someone washed you out and hung you up to dry."

"No," said Merrill, "I haven't had a bath all week."

Hawke said, "I'll take care of that," and paid Corff for Merrill to have her bath. "It'll be a few minutes," she said and joined them at the table.

"Were the bad old Dalish mean to our little kitten?" Isabela was saying.

"Some of them were," Merrill admitted, "but the Keeper was kind, as always."

"You're back among friends now," said Isabela. "We'll have you bright and chipper again in no time."

"Thank you, Isabela. That's nice to hear." Merrill smiled at her and Isabela tweaked her nose, making the young elf giggle.

"That's more like it," Isabela said, laughing.

"Hawke," Merrill said, her face grown serious again, "I was able to learn the ritual."

"I hear a _but_ in there," Hawke said, trying to keep her tone light.

"Yes, well, without using blood magic, I don't think I have the strength to complete it." Merrill's eyes were downcast, her cheeks red. She knew fully well how Hawke felt about blood magic.

"Potions won't help?" asked Hawke.

Merrill shook her head. "Once I begin, I won't be able to stop and drink a potion. I have to chant the words of power until the portal is closed."

"Difficult enough in a room full of demons." Hawke considered. "Is there no other way to boost your mana?"

"There are enchanted items, but most of the one's I've seen are pretty weak," offered Isabela.

"True, but it's worth looking into," said Hawke.

Corff signaled Hawke the bath was ready.

"Isabela, help Merrill with her bath. I'm going to talk to Varric, see if he can help find us something."

"My pleasure," purred Isabela.

"And behave," Hawke told her.

"Spoilsport," Isabela pouted.

* * *

"I'll ask around," Varric told Hawke after she'd explained what they needed for Merrill to do the ritual, "but why not ask Blondie? He knows about magic shit."

Hawke made a face.

"Blondie's alright, Hawke. When you're not around, he's actually kind of fun."

"Why would he act differently around me?" Hawke asked, though she was pretty sure she knew.

"Hmph, don't play dumb, you know he's got a crush on you."

"Which I've never encouraged," Hawke said. "It makes things so awkward around him."

"I think it agitates him even more that your attention is, well, elsewhere," Varric said.

"Even if it weren't, Anders just isn't my type. I mean, he's handsome enough, but he's also possessed. Big turn-off."

"If you really want help with this ritual, you'll go talk to him," Varric said. "In the meantime, I'll ask around about enchanted shit."

"Fine, I'll go talk to him."

* * *

Hawke really didn't want to go to Darktown by herself, but everyone was otherwise occupied. That is, unless she wanted to trudge all the way up to Hightown to ask Fenris or Aveline, neither of whom was a big fan of Anders. So, she made the trip alone.

"Hawke!" Anders greeted her. "What brings you to Darktown?" He moved away from the table where he had been grinding herbs in a mortar. The smell of embrium was pungent in the air.

"Anders," Hawke said. "I come seeking knowledge," she grinned, "and to offer an apology."

"An apology?" he questioned. "For what?"

Hawke laughed. "If you don't know then you mustn't be angry." She sat on the edge of the low table where he treated his patients. "Last week, when I was... sick. I didn't mean to be rude when you so kindly offered your help."

"Don't worry about it," he said, though there was a frown on his face. Perhaps he was remembering that she did accept help from Fenris.

"If you'd known my father, you'd understand. He was very strict about the uses of magic, and he drilled that into all of us, not just Bethany."

"To stay free of the Circle for so long, whatever he taught you all must have worked."

It was Hawke's turn to frown as she thought of Bethany, no longer free of the Circle. "Yes, but even discipline has its limits."

Anders seemed to understand her meaning, because he asked, "How is your sister fairing?" and there was real concern in his voice.

"As best as can be expected," Hawke replied. "She seems to be finding her place in the Circle."

As if sensing her discomfort, Anders changed the subject. "So what knowledge are you seeking, Hawke?" he asked with a gentle smile.

Maybe Varric was right. Maybe she wasn't giving Anders a fair chance. He was certainly being magnanimous enough now. She just couldn't get past the whole _Justice_ thing. Well, she'd try to not be so prickly with him in the future. After all, she did rely on his skills quite often.

"Merrill learned the ritual that will close the portal at the Bone Pit, but well, she can't complete it without resorting to blood magic," Hawke said candidly.

"I know you won't allow that," said Anders.

Hawke nodded in agreement. "Blood magic is dangerous at the best of times, but using it in the middle of a doorway to the fade? That would be suicide."

"And she's never developed much mana because she hasn't needed it," he said in disgust.

"Exactly," said Hawke. "Merrill's intentions are good, but she is very naïve."

"You give her more credit than she deserves," said Anders.

Hawke let that slide. "Is there any way you can help? A spell or something?"

"Why can't she use potions?" he asked.

"The ritual includes chanting that can't be interrupted," Hawke explained.

"I see," he said. "There are enchanted items that boost mana, but I've never heard of a spell that does."

"Varric is checking with the merchants for me. So you can't help?" she said with a frown.

"Not in the way you were hoping, but there are other ways I may be of use."

"Such as?"

"Shield spells, healing, things like that," he said. "I can keep her from being interrupted."

"She'll need all the help she can get. Thank you Anders," Hawke said, but the disappointment in her voice was apparent.

"Cheer up, Hawke. Maybe Varric will come up with something," he said, laying a hand on her shoulder.

It took all her willpower not to shrug him off. Instead she said, "Let's hope so. Can you come to the Hanged Man tonight? I want to strategize."

"Of course," he said, smiling in a way that made her very uncomfortable.

"See you tonight then," she said hopping of the table and making a quick exit.

* * *

Fenris was the last to arrive at the meeting that night. He did not join the others at Varric's table, but instead leaned against the wall near the doorway. Hawke's stomach did a little flip at the sight of him standing there, keeping himself separate, but she pulled herself together and focused on the task at hand.

Once she had finished filling everyone in on the details, she turned to Varric. "Any luck finding something that will help Merrill?"

"I paid a visit to Sandal this afternoon. Bodahn sold me this." He produced a ring from his pocket. "He said it would help." He handed the ring to Hawke.

"What does it do?"

"I'm not really sure," replied Varric. "Sandal just kept saying _enchantment_, and Bodahn would only say he was sure that anything his boy enchanted would do the trick."

Hawke handed the ring to Merrill. "Try it on," she said.

Merrill slipped the ring on her index finger. After a few minutes she said, "I feel something, but I don't know what exactly."

"Well, it can't hurt," said Hawke. "Sandal has come through for us before, so we'll take it on faith the ring will help." She paused and looked around the table. Her eyes rested last, and lingered longest, on Fenris. "Is everyone on board?" she asked and breathed a sigh of relief when no one backed out. She would need them all.

Her plan went like this: Anders and Aveline would be responsible for Merrill, whose sole task would be to enact the ritual. Anders would alternate between keeping a protective circle around Merrill and healing her and Aveline. Aveline, in turn, would protect Merrill and Anders from being attacked as best she could.

"Varric, you'll stay by the entrance with Bianca. Try to stay out of the fight and aim for the big guys. Fenris, Isabela and I will hack and slash at everything else."

Aveline was frowning. "What if Merrill can't complete the ritual?" she asked.

Hawke nodded, expecting this. "I bought these from Solivitus," she said, and pulled out a padded sack with three explosive grenades. "Boom," she said.

"Boom?" asked Aveline. "You can't mean to use those grenades in a confined space like that."

"If I signal the retreat, I'll wait for you all to get clear, throw the grenades and use my fancy boots to get out of there in a jiff. No problem."

Fenris pushed himself away from the wall. "No. Give the grenades to me."

"You know I'm faster than you, Fenris. I'll be fine." She paused and smiled at Merrill. "We probably won't even need to use them."

Fenris didn't argue then, but after it was agreed they would go to the Bone Pit the next afternoon, and everyone else had wandered downstairs for a bit of drinking, he cornered Hawke in the hallway outside of her room.

"Your escape plan is suicide, Hawke," he said in his most growly voice.

"You've trained with me. You know I can do it," she said trying to sound more confident than she actually felt.

"Too many things could go wrong," he said, and stepped closer to her.

"If they do go wrong, I expect you to rush in and save me," she said, attempting levity as confidence didn't seem to be working on him.

"I will not be able to save you if you are in little pieces on the floor," he growled, and took a final step, bringing him just inches away from her. "Give me the grenades."

"I… can't." She looked down at her feet to avoid the ferocity in his eyes. "I couldn't stand it if…"

"You think it is any different for me?" he snarled. "Give me the grenades," he repeated.

She looked back up at him, allowing him to see her own determination. "No."

"_Venhedis_! I don't know whether to strangle you or…"

"Or what?" she asked on a breath.

He didn't tell her. He showed her. With his mouth and his hands, he showed her, leaving her weak and breathless when he pulled away. "This argument is not over," he said before stalking away.

"Oh yes it is," she whispered to his retreating back.

* * *

Fenris was angry. As he stomped through the common room of the Hanged Man, lyrium glowing under his skin, all heads turned. He didn't care. Let them stare. He slammed the door behind him, moving through the streets of Lowtown with a grim determination.

"Foolish woman," he muttered, his thoughts in turmoil. Always risking herself unnecessarily for others. He took the steps up to Hightown two at a time, needing to put distance between himself and Hawke as quickly as possible. He'd come so close to just throwing her over his shoulder and… and what? He slowed his pace. And showing her exactly what she meant to him. Yet not with caring and tenderness, but with this burning fire inside of him. Whenever his newly acknowledged feelings for Hawke rose to the surface, they brought with them all the rage and hate buried in his heart. He could not separate them. Could not control his emotions at all, and it made him dangerous to her. She had no idea what he'd nearly done. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

His resolve not to touch her could not stand against the power of his need. Just the thought of Hawke putting herself in danger sent him over the edge and into that primal need - not only to protect her, but also to possess her.

He really should leave. Should remove himself from being a danger to her. It was not, however, only his promise that held him. It was also that he knew that his freedom meant nothing if he could not be near her, with her.

He'd thought that escaping from Danarius was the hardest thing he'd ever done, but no. Escaping the Magister had been easy compared to escaping the legacy of being a slave. No matter the struggle, the pain or the torment, he would not, could not leave her.

He returned to his mansion with only one thought left in his mind - how to get those grenades from Hawke.


	11. Chapter 10

It was a somber party that arrived at the Bone Pit the next afternoon. Fenris had attempted several times to convince Hawke to give him the grenades, but she'd held firm, even when his markings had gone all glowy and he'd demanded she give them to him.

"Any noise out of those tunnels?" Hawke asked Jansen as they approached the group of miners.

"Quiet as the Chantry at midnight," he replied, which caused Isabela to snort. She'd been in the Chantry at midnight when it hadn't been so quiet.

Before long they were at the sealed door.

"All right Merrill, this is your show," Hawke said. "Don't let anything distract you, just go in and get to work. We'll take care of the rest." Hawke wrapped her arms around the young mage's thin shoulders and whispered in her ear, "You can do this."

Merrill looked at her with wide eyes and nodded.

"Anders?" Hawke said as she readied her lock picks.

Anders stepped up to the door and dispelled the magic seal. Hawke made quick work of the locks and said, "Let's go!"

Merrill had just enough time to trace three sigils on the floor at the center of the room before the first wave of shades appeared. Anders threw his shield around her, and even over the noise of roaring demons and clashing blades, Hawke heard Merrill's melodious voice begin the Elven chant.

There was no time to watch, however. Hawke was kept busy as wave after wave of creatures from the Fade rose up from the floor to attack. She'd paused to drink a much needed stamina potion when she felt a bump at her hip, and turned around to see Isabela toss the sack of grenades across the room to Fenris.

"Sorry, sweet thing," she yelled over the din, "I owed him a favor!"

Hawke watched as Fenris caught the sack and hooked it to his belt with one hand, while sweeping his blade through a group of shades with the other.

_Coordinated bastard_, she thought, but there was no time to go after him, because a horror rose from the floor in front of her just at that moment. She flipped into the air and landed behind it, slicing through its neck with her blades.

The fight went on and on. Twice she used her fancy boots to rescue Varric from being overwhelmed, but so far they were all still alive and Merrill continued to chant.

A glance at Anders showed her he was growing alarmingly pale, and Hawke truly hoped this wouldn't take much longer. Aveline, bless her heart, had managed to keep the two mages from harm, but even she was obviously beginning to tire.

Suddenly Merrill's voice rose in octave so high, pain shot through Hawke's ears.

_Harel Setheneran Halam Sahlin!*_

A blast of frigid air knocked Hawke to the floor; followed by a silence so thick she could hear her blood pumping through her veins. For long moments she could not move, could not even lift her head to look around. She faced the wall, and watched as the glowing lyrium pattern etched in the stone faded and went dark.

Hawke sensed movement to her right, and soon a pair of green eyes and a shock of white hair came into view. He was on the ground, and had apparently crawled over to her. As soon as he looked into her eyes and saw her looking back at him, his body collapsed prone on the floor.

"Sneaky bastard," she managed to whisper.

Fenris only smiled.

* * *

Hawke had promised herself she'd stop after her third ale, but when Isabela brought her another full mug saying, "Come on Hawke, we're celebrating!" she'd accepted the pint. After three, even the swill the Hanged Man served tasted good. She'd stop at four, for sure.

They _were_ celebrating. Merrill had closed the portal to the Fade and everyone had walked away, more or less intact. Nothing a few healing potions couldn't fix, anyway. Merrill sat at a table where Varric held court, regaling his audience with the daring and bravery of the Dalish elf who defeated hundreds of demons from the Fade, merely with the beauty of her voice. Hawke grinned into her pint, glad that someone else was the hero of Varric's tall tales for a change.

The only thing missing from this happy little party was Fenris. He'd begged off, and disappeared into Hightown as soon as they'd returned. She sighed. He hadn't even given her the satisfaction of yelling at him for his little trick with the grenades.

"Just what was that favor?" Hawke had asked Isabela, earlier.

"A lady never tells," Isabela had purred.

And for a split second Hawke had wanted to punch her in the face. But no, Fenris wouldn't… no…

Anders came over to where she slumped on a bench and dropped onto the seat next to her. "I guess Sandal's enchantment did the trick," he said, smiling at her. "No blood magic required." He lifted his mug and took a long drink.

"Here's to Sandal," she said, lifting her pint and trying to smile. Anders was sitting a bit closer than she'd like, but she stuck with her resolve to not be so prickly, and didn't scoot away. There was entirely too much _trying_ when Anders was around. It was exhausting.

This fourth pint was beginning to go to her head.

"I have to hand it to Merrill, I didn't think she had it in her," he said shaking his head.

"Don't under.. under..," said Hawke, trying find the right word.

"Underestimate?" Anders suggested.

"Yes, don't do that," Hawke said, half forgetting what they were talking about. Maybe this fourth pint wasn't such a good idea. She set it down on the table.

"So Hawke," Anders said leaning in close to her. "Where's your guard-dog?"

"Right here," snarled a deep voice behind them.

_Uh oh_, she thought at first, and then looked at the thundercloud that was Fenris' face and started to giggle.

Fenris' attention immediately switched from the mage to her, and she smiled up at him beautifully. It worked, the muscles in his face relaxed.

Anders started to say, "You don't…" to Fenris, but Hawke interrupted him.

She fanned her face with her hand and said, "I could really use some air, Fenris," and she held her hand out for him to take if he would.

He did take it, and did not let go as they walked across the crowded room and through the door, which was a good thing because Hawke stumbled twice on their way out.

"That mage," Fenris began once they were outside.

Hawke cut him off. "Oh no, it's my turn to be angry, _messere makes a deal with Isabela behind my back_." She poked his chest-plate with her finger.

That made him grin. "If you had just given me the grenades as I asked…"

"Oh sure, I was going to do that!" She rolled her eyes.

"You are using full sentences," he remarked. "Not too drunk then."

"The cooler air is helping," she said loftily, then wrinkled her nose, "but it smells awful."

"I have noticed that the air in Hightown is much… fresher," Fenris said, offering Hawke his arm.

"What an excellent idea," she said, accepting it.

They walked in silence until they reached the Hightown bridge, when Hawke said, "So tell me, this favor Isabela owed you…"

"Hmm, yes?" Fenris sounded like a bored aristocrat.

"What was it?"

He considered a moment before saying, "Have you asked her?"

"Yes," Hawke drawled. "She said 'a lady never tells' in that sultry way she has. I nearly punched her."

"I see," he said.

"Don't make me punch you," Hawke tugged on his arm and they stopped in the center of the bridge.

"Would you?" he asked, interested.

"What, punch you?"

"Yes," he said, fighting a smile.

"If necessary," she said with absolute certainty. "Don't change the subject. What was the favor?"

"You are extremely persistent."

"You're just noticing this?" She leaned toward him. "If you won't tell me, I have other ways to make you talk."

"Other than punching, you mean."

"You're enjoying this!" she accused.

"Yes," he drawled, very growly indeed.

She glared at him. "Last chance," she said, "before I use my wily, wily ways on you."

"Tempting," he said. "But alas, I'm afraid you will be disappointed by the answer."

"Try me."

He couldn't stop his grin this time. "It was a case of an unwanted suitor. I merely stood next to Isabela and attempted to look menacing."

"Oh?" she said laughing. "Show me this menacing look."

Fenris folded his arms across his chest and glowered.

"Hmm. I bet he couldn't get away fast enough."

"He did leave in quite a hurry."

"And you didn't even have to glow."

"No," he said, laughter in his voice. "That was not necessary."

Hawke sighed and took his arm again. "I suppose we should go back."

"That would be safest, yes," he agreed.

They retraced their steps back to the Hanged Man, but when Fenris reached to open the door for her, Hawke stopped him. "This was nice," she said. She smiled and kissed him softly.

As they entered the heat and noise of the bar, Hawke thought that perhaps they could make this work, after all.

* * *

Hawke sat on the narrow bed in her tiny room at the Hanged Man. The belongings she'd kept and accumulated over the past two years were packed into several large trunks sitting by the door. She was moving to Hightown, just as the two year anniversary of her return from the Deep Roads rolled around. Two years of Bethany in the Gallows. It was her sister who had been excited about moving into the family estate and assuming her place among Kirkwall nobility. Well, and Mother, too – but Leandra would get her wish, unlike Bethany. Although Hawke had always humored both of them, she really couldn't have cared less. She was happy in Lowtown, as long as it wasn't under Uncle Gamlen's roof. At least her mother would be happier - that was something.

There was also two full years of her tumultuous relationship with Fenris. Was it even a relationship? For all intents and purposes, she was still alone. She often wished Danarius would make his move, so that Fenris could put that part of his life behind him. This false freedom left him wary, uncertain and bitterly clinging to the hatred inside himself.

And there was nothing she could do about it. Well, except for distracting him now and then, usually by being outrageously flirty or putting herself in _unnecessary_ (his word) danger. Ever since the episode at the Bone Pit, it seemed as if every fight they got into, Fenris was constantly at her back or at her side making sure she remained unhurt. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had to use a healing potion. Not that she minded; _Maker_ they tasted awful.

A tapping on her door interrupted her reverie.

"Hawke?" It was Varric. "Several burly men are out here, I assume to move your stuff."

She opened the door and let the burly men inside to retrieve her trunks. Once they had gone she followed Varric into his rooms.

"So, I guess this is sad," he said. "I really don't do sad, Hawke."

"What's sad about it? I'll be here every night, as usual," she said cheerily. But it _was_ sad and they both knew it.

Varric perked up. "No way you can stay away for long."

"No way," she agreed. She could feel herself wanting to tear up, so she leaned down, kissed Varric on the cheek, and was down the stairs and out through the door before she could lose her shit.

* * *

Varric was disappointed when Hawke didn't come to the Hanged Man that night, but he figured it was her first night in her new home, and Leandra would want her daughter's company. It wasn't until the next morning, when Aveline came tromping into his rooms, that he had an inkling that something was wrong.

"Have you seen Hawke?" Aveline asked him.

Varric shook his head. "She moved up to Hightown yesterday. Haven't seen her since."

"Leandra sent for me this morning. Apparently Hawke didn't show up at home last night," Aveline told him.

"Well, um," said Varric.

"What?" Aveline asked. "If you know something spit it out."

"I don't _know_ anything, but have you checked with the elf?"

"Right. Good point," Aveline said and made to leave. "If she shows up here, let me know."

As he watched her tromp back down the stairwell, Varric really hoped Aveline would find Hawke with Fenris. It would be about bloody time.

* * *

Aveline did not find Hawke with Fenris.

"What do you mean she did not go home last night?" Fenris shouted. "Where is she then?"

"I was hoping she was here, actually," said Aveline.

"Well, you can see that she is not," he said in clipped tones, and reached for his sword.

"You need to calm down, Fenris. What are you doing?" Aveline asked him.

"I'm going to find her," said Fenris, "since apparently the _Captain of the Guard_ is incapable of doing so." He started toward the door.

"Fenris, if Hawke really is missing, we need to coordinate, not all run off half-cocked," Aveline said.

He stopped, his back to her.

"We still need to check with Anders and Merrill," she told him.

"I'll go to Darktown," he said in a low voice, "and meet you back at the Hanged Man."

"Fair enough," said Aveline. "I'll go to the alienage."

* * *

"What are you doing here?" Anders asked, his voice filled with contempt.

Fenris wanted nothing more than to grab the mage by the throat and throw him across the room. Instead he said, "I'm looking for Hawke, have you seen her?" He tried to keep his tone reasonable, but despite his efforts, it came out surly.

"You're her guard-dog, not me," said Anders. "Did she let you off your leash?"

With those words, Fenris could literally feel the collar around his neck. He nearly felt choked by the tug of the leash as he heard Danarius say in his mind, _Come along, my little wolf_. The lyrium under his skin came to life and he growled, "Shut your mouth, mage."

Anders pulled his staff from his back, his eyes burst into blue light and it was Justice's voice that boomed, "You will not harm this vessel, elf!"

"What's this?" Isabela said as she came sauntering into the clinic. "Everybody's glowing, and not in a good way." She pulled the daggers from her back and stepped between them. "First one that makes a move…" and she twirled her blades for emphasis.

For the length of several heartbeats, no one moved or spoke. Fenris struggled to regain control of himself. He focused on Hawke, his need to find her. Killing this abomination would be satisfying – oh so satisfying – but would not bring him closer to finding his Hawke. Nothing else mattered but that.

As the light from his markings faded, Isabela moved and stood next to him. "Go away Justice," she said. "Let Anders come out and play."

Anders lowered his staff and covered his eyes with one hand. When he looked back at them, his eyes had returned to their usual soft amber.

"What's this about?" asked Isabela.

"Hawke is missing," said Fenris, his voice hoarse. He turned and left, leaving Isabela to deal with Anders. The desire to rip the mage's heart from his chest was still too strong for him to remain a second longer.

* * *

Fenris walked into the Hanged Man to find Aveline, Varric and Merrill standing together in animated discussion. His heart sank. There was no sign of Hawke.

"Not with Anders?" Aveline asked him as he approached the group.

He shook his head. The mention of Anders' name threatened to send him over the edge again.

"I haven't seen Rivani this morning," said Varric. "Maybe they're together. You know, off on a some girl-type mischief."

"No," Fenris managed to get out. "I saw Isabela in Darktown."

"Time to get my guard rallied," said Aveline. "Leave any messages with Leandra. I'll stop by on my way to the keep and fill her in."

The Guard Captain had just left when Isabela strolled in. "No sign of Hawke?" she asked, her eyes on Fenris.

It was Varric who answered. "No. Time to activate the spy network," he headed toward the door himself. "I'll be back in a few."

"Where could she be?" Merrill asked, wringing her hands, tears in her eyes.

"Don't worry, Kitten, we'll find her," said Isabela. Then, in an uncharacteristic gesture, she turned to Fenris and said, "You okay?"

"No, I am not _okay_," spat Fenris. "I don't know whether to curse you or thank you."

"Oh, have I been a bad girl?" Isabela teased, reverting to her usual ways, "You could spank me," she suggested.

"Bah," he said and moved to leave.

Varric returned then, and said, "Whoa there elf, we need to do some rallying ourselves."

Fenris stopped and glared down at the dwarf.

"One of my urchins was found unconscious in Hightown," Varric told them. "He's being brought here - somebody needs to fetch Blondie to heal the kid. He may know something."

Isabela immediately volunteered. "I'll go," she said, eyeing Fenris warily.

Varric nodded. "Elf, you live in Hightown, go up there and poke around a bit. See if you notice anything unusual."

"I don't spend much time in Hightown, Varric. I tend to _stick out_," Fenris said.

Varric sighed. "Just do it. We'll meet you at Hawke's place after we find out what the urchin knows."

Needing to do something, Fenris agreed and left the Hanged Man. He didn't want to be there when the abomination showed up.

* * *

Hawke's wrists hurt. In fact, both of her arms were aching. She tried to move them into a more comfortable position but they wouldn't budge. _What_? Also, there was something in her mouth, which she tried to spit out without success. What kind of dream was this?

She opened her eyes. A small square of light shone on the floor from a high window, but otherwise the room was dark. And bare, except for herself and the chair she was apparently tied to. No wonder her arms hurt, twisted behind her back as they were. And what vile thing was in her mouth? It tasted horrible. To top off the list, the back of her head throbbed dully.

Not a dream then.

The last thing she could recall was rounding the corner to Uncle Gamlen's house. She had intended to stop by and make sure they hadn't left anything there, before heading up to the estate for an early dinner with Mother. After that she had no memory. Until now.

She heard footsteps approaching, and the creak of a door hinge. Soon a shadowy figure stood before her.

"Serah Hawke," said the figure, keeping to the shadows.

Wait, she knew that voice. She wracked her brain, trying to remember.

"Your reputation has grown in the past few years, but apparently you're not invulnerable," the voice taunted her.

_I know not what manner of creatures they are; I've never seen them myself._

Magistrate Vanard, Hawke remembered. The one whose psychopathic son she'd killed in those ruins. She stared into the shadows, her eyes narrowed.

"You took my son from me, Serah Hawke," he said, and stepped into the small square of light, "and you shall pay the price."

_Well, if he wants to banter_, Hawke thought, _he's doing a poor job of it, keeping this gag in my mouth and all._

"For now, I will leave you to consider the consequences of betraying a Magistrate of Kirkwall." He turned on his heel and the door clanged loudly behind him.

No banter then. She sighed and began to test the ropes around her wrists.

* * *

Fenris hesitated at the door to the Amell Estate. He'd only met Leandra Hawke once, during Hawke's recovery after Arvaarad had been killed. What would she think of him coming to her grand mansion in Hightown? He lifted the knocker and let it drop. What she thought did not matter, he decided. Finding Hawke was the only thing he need consider.

Leandra answered the door herself, looking puzzled for a moment, before her face cleared in recognition. "Fenris, isn't it? Mari's friend." She opened the door wide, "Come in, please. Have you heard anything?" she said as Fenris followed her into the wide foyer. Her eyes were red and swollen, her face ashen grey.

"Not yet," he replied.

"I'm sorry, I can offer you no refreshments," she said, attempting to play the hostess. "We haven't…" her voice broke and she finished through fresh tears, "hired any servants as yet."

"We will find her," Fenris said.

Leandra looked up at him, her eyes wet. "Mari is very fond of you. She speaks of you often."

Hawke talked about him to her mother? He wouldn't have thought… "Varric and the others will be here soon." He did not know what else to say.

"I'm glad Mari has such good friends," Leandra said.

There was a knock at the door.

"Excuse me," said Leandra, and moved to answer it.

Fenris was relieved to see Varric, Isabela and Merrill follow Leandra into the room. He was also relieved to see the abomination wasn't with them.

"Any luck, elf?" asked Varric.

Fenris shook his head. "No."

"That's the advantage of having a spy network," he said. "That boy, the one they found unconscious? He saw two thugs dragging someone into a mansion in Hightown Estates."

"Was it Mari?" Leandra nearly shrieked.

"He wasn't sure, but it's the best lead we have so far," Varric said.

"In broad daylight?" Fenris questioned. "Why did no guards stop them?"

"Good question," replied Varric.

"Time to talk to Lady Man-hands," said Isabela.

Leandra was beside herself. She looked on the verge of fainting, but managed to croak out, "Who?"

"Aveline," explained Varric.

"Perhaps I should wait here," Merrill said, glancing at Leandra meaningfully.

"Good idea, Kitten," said Isabela. "We'll let you know the minute we find out anything."

* * *

When Varric explained to Aveline the information he'd gleaned from his urchin, she looked as if steam might come pouring out of her ears at any second. Or maybe her head would explode, he wasn't sure.

"Wait here," she said and stomped out of the room. "Lieutenant Jalen!" she called, and then there was a lot of shouting.

He glanced at his other two companions. Fenris wasn't in much better shape. Varric was sure the elf's lyrium markings were going to start glowing at any moment. Only Isabela seemed calm and unconcerned, but he knew better. That was just Rivaini's way. He looked around at his companions and just by the looks on their faces, he knew that whoever took Hawke was, for all intents and purposes, already dead. He swallowed down the bitter taste of fear that threatened to choke him and thought,_ especially if Bianca had anything to say about it_.

Aveline returned to her office. "Lieutenant Jalen is tracking down the guards who were on patrol yesterday. He'll let us know if he finds out anything." She turned to Varric. "The boy didn't say which mansion, you're sure?"

"Poor kid took a bad blow to the head. We're lucky he remembered anything at all," said Varric.

"We can't just search all of them," Aveline said, pacing. "Who would want to… abduct Hawke? Who is it she has pissed off in Hightown?"

"Sister Petrice?" Varric suggested.

"She doesn't live in Hightown Estates," Aveline said. "Though she could have friends there…"

Fenris spoke up then. "That Magistrate."

Isabela's dark eyes widened. "The one with the depraved son?" she asked.

"The son whose throat Hawke slit?" Varric added. He remembered that day well. Too well, really, because he'd give anything to forget he'd ever met that sick son of a bitch.

"Yes," drawled Fenris, his fists clenched.

"Shit," said Aveline. "What was his name?"

"Van-something," said Varric.

"Magistrate Vanard?" asked Aveline.

"That's the one," confirmed Varric with a nod.

Fenris moved to the door.

"Fenris, no. We do this right!" shouted Aveline.

He kept on walking.

"Shit!" said Aveline again.

"Here we go," said Varric.

* * *

_* The dreadful place of waking dreams ends now (loosely translated)._


	12. Chapter 11

It had been a long night. Hawke watched as the small square of light on the floor had gradually faded and winked out. She'd had nothing better to do because the Magistrate had not returned. Without food or water all day, she was feeling light-headed and weak. She was also pretty sure her wrists were bleeding from her ceaseless efforts to free her hands.

_Blast_, she thought.

If she wanted to create a litany of complaints, however, the foul rag in her mouth would be at the top of the list. It was tied so tightly that her jaw had progressed from pins and needles to numbness by the time that square of light had faded. There was also a coppery taste in her mouth, which was probably blood from constantly pushing at the rag with her tongue.

_Balls_, she thought.

How long since that square of light had disappeared? One hour? Two? More? She had no way of knowing. She also had no hope of rescue. It had been over two years since she'd slit that murdering Kelder's throat. How could her friends connect those dots from so long ago? She'd forgotten all about him herself. Until that was, she'd heard the Magistrate's voice coming from the shadows.

Maker, was she in trouble this time. _And_ she had to pee. _Andraste's ass_.

She must have dozed off, because when she opened her eyes that little square of light had reappeared, dim though it was. Early morning then. Trapped here for nearly a full day, she'd almost be glad for the Magistrate to return. Okay, not really.

At least she was still alive.

What was he playing at? If he meant to kill her, why this long delay? So that she would consider the consequences of blah, blah, blah? What a pompous ass. He really must believe he was above the law in all things.

The square of light, her own personal clock, was shining brightly by the time she heard footsteps approaching the door. She'd been holding it together pretty well, but now she felt the first real thrill of fear travel down her spine. Unless he was in the mood for some conversation, he could just walk right in and slit her throat and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. Her only hope was that these villainous types usually liked a little foreplay.

This time he brought a lantern with him, and she could see his thin face twist into a perverse kind of pleasure when he saw the state she was in. So father and son had a bit more in common than she thought. _Torture anyone?_ Maker, she hoped not. He did have a knife, but for now he only used it to cut the rag binding her mouth. She immediately started to retch.

"I've been considering how best to repay you, Serah Hawke." He ran a finger down the edge of the knife's blade. "What price for my son's life? I thought I might start with your face," he smiled evilly. "Such a pretty face, too, but not for much longer."

She tried to say, _monster_, as in, you're a monster, but it came out _Muthu_.

"Trouble with your tongue? Perhaps we can remove that for you, as well." And then he backhanded her across the face so hard her neck snapped back and her ears rang.

Well, there was nothing wrong with her eyes, and she glared at him with all the contempt she felt.

He took Hawke's chin in his hand and ran the blade along the line of her cheek. "Where should I begin, do you think?"

Vanard, however, never got the chance. In one moment, there was only the two of them in the room. In the next, Fenris was behind the Magistrate, lyrium burning brightly under his skin. With his face a mask of fury, Fenris' hand reached into the Magistrate's chest from behind, crushing and twisting until the man collapsed.

And then there were only two of them in the room again, only this time it was her and Fenris. The Magistrate lay dead on the floor between them, his face a mask of agony. Her only disappointment was the degenerate jerk probably never knew what hit him - it was over in the space of a moment.

"Fah," she tried, but her tongue still wouldn't work.

"Hush," he said, and picked up the Magistrate's knife, cutting through the ropes that bound her wrists. Then she was in his arms and he was carrying her up a steep set of stairs. She closed her eyes and finally, now that she was safe, the tears came.

* * *

She heard voices, Varric, Aveline, Isabela.

She distinctly heard Aveline say, "Maker, what a mess."

Then she heard no more.

Voices again, although Hawke could not force her eyes open.

Mother: _She needs a healer._

Varric: _I'll get Blondie._

Isabela and Fenris: _No!_

A brief silence.

Mother: _I'll send a request to the Gallows._

Darkness.

_Bethany_, she thought when consciousness returned. She would recognize the feel of her sister's magic, even if she were half-dead. Perhaps she was half-dead, because she still could not move or open her eyes. But oh, it felt wonderful. The pain in her wrists and her mouth began to fade. She slipped softly back into sleep.

"She'll be fine now, Mother, don't worry," Bethany said.

Fenris watched as mother and daughter embraced. They were all gathered in Hawke's room on the top floor of the Amell Estate.

"Thank you, Bethany," Leandra said, openly crying.

"We should return to the Gallows now, Mistress Bethany," said Knight Caption Cullen.

"Thank you for bringing my daughter, Knight Captain," said Leandra through a fresh bout of tears.

"You are most welcome," said Cullen and bowed to Leandra.

"I'll see you next week," Bethany said to her mother, and was escorted by the Knight Captain from the room.

Leandra turned to them. "I owe you all my Mari's life," she said.

Aveline put her hands on Leandra's shoulders. "Send for me if you need anything." She glanced back at Hawke lying prone on the bed before leaving the room.

"When Hawke wakes up, tell her we'll be by tomorrow to see her," said Varric.

"I will," Leandra replied.

Isabela walked over and planted a kiss on Hawke's forehead. "Get well, sweet thing," she said, softly.

Varric and Isabela left him alone with Leandra.

"Would you mind…" Fenris began. He couldn't imagine leaving Hawke yet, not after he'd almost lost her.

"What is it, Fenris?" Leandra asked him gently.

"Would you mind if I stayed for awhile?" he asked.

"Of course I wouldn't mind," she said through her tears. "And if _you_ don't mind, I'll just go freshen up for a bit. I wouldn't want to leave her alone…"

He'd never seen anyone cry so much and so easily. It was disconcerting. He was glad Hawke didn't take after her mother in this way. "I'll stay with her," he told Leandra.

Leandra leaned down and kissed Hawke just as Isabela had, then left the room.

Fenris pulled a chair over to Hawke's bedside and sat down. He lifted her hand and brought it to his lips, before enfolding it in both of his own. She really had been a mess, with her wrists raw and bleeding, and her mouth swollen and bruised. She'd been so pale when he'd lifted her into his arms in that monster's cellar. That _dead_ monster. He almost wished he could kill the Magistrate again, just for the sheer pleasure of it.

After a while Hawke's hand stirred in his and her eyelids fluttered.

"Hawke?" he said, leaning over her.

She opened her eyes. "Fenris," she said on a breath, and then laughed softly. "Oh good, my mouth works again."

He smiled. "Yes, that is good."

"Maker I'm thirsty," she said, and ran her tongue along her bottom lip.

Watching her do that drove him a little bit crazy, but he reached for the goblet of water sitting on her bedside table and asked, "Can you hold it?"

"Let's see." She pushed herself up into a sitting position and reached for the mug. "Yes," she said. "Bethany always was a good healer." She drank thirstily.

"How did you know Bethany was here?" he asked.

Hawke drank half of the mug of water before handing it back to him. "I felt her magic, and heard her talking to Mother."

He set the glass down and reclaimed her hand.

"So," she said, "I believe I owe you my thanks."

"It will be thanks enough if you take better care in the future," he said. "I didn't… I couldn't…" he shook his head, not finding the words.

"Oh no, you don't get off that easily," she said and tugged at his hand, pulling him close. The kiss was gentle, and sweet and short-lived, but it calmed something in him that had been raging from the moment Aveline came to his mansion looking for a missing Hawke.

* * *

"He said what?" Hawke immediately began getting up out of her bed.

"Oh no you don't," Isabela said pushing her back down. "Too soon."

It was the next day and Isabela had come for a visit. She had to admit her new bed was extremely comfortable, and her bedroom, now filled with her own things, was perfect. Fenris had stayed most of yesterday evening, but Hawke hadn't seen him yet today. First Varric and Merrill, then Aveline, and now Isabela had been to see her.

"Let me make sure I heard you right," Hawke said, steel in her voice. "Anders called Fenris my guard-dog, _again_ and then asked him if I'd let him off his leash?"

"Fraid so," confirmed Isabela. "I happen to overhear him just before I walked into the clinic." She frowned thoughtfully for a moment. "But to be fair, Anders wasn't there the night we first met Fenris, when he told us how Danarius once kept him on a leash."

"To mock Qunari custom," Hawke finished; visibly shaking, she was so angry. "I can't believe you stood between them like that. Isabela, what were you thinking?"

"Oh, I was thinking that if they killed each other I'd miss all the fun of watching them hate each other," she said, examining her nails.

"Isabela," Hawke said laughing. "The worst part is, I'm sure that's true!"

"Yes," she said standing up, "it is. Unfortunately, I have to run now, sweet thing, but first you have to promise me not to go chasing after Anders until you're fully recovered."

"I feel perfectly fine," Hawke said.

"Make your mama happy and wait until tomorrow." Isabela walked to the door and said, "Kisses," before sauntering out.

_Anders_, Hawke thought. Without Isabela to distract her, her anger returned full force. And to think she'd been trying to be _nice_ to him!

Her mother came in carrying a tray. "Here you are, Mari," Leandra said, placing the tray on Hawke's lap.

"Really, Mother, I could have come downstairs to eat with you," Hawke said. She sniffed at the big bowl of stew. "It smells wonderful."

"You need to regain your strength," Leandra said cupping Hawke's chin with her hand. "You still look pale."

"I'm getting out of this bed tomorrow, Mother," Hawke said, and then to take the sting out of her words she added, "Thank you for taking such good care of me."

"Of course, my darling," Leandra replied. "You know, I didn't used to approve of your choice of friends, but after this… Well, I owe them so much."

Hawke smiled. "So do I."

* * *

When Fenris entered the Hanged Man a few nights later, and find Hawke sitting at her usual table surrounded by her "flock" playing cards, the last residue of his anxiety for her melted away. It was remarkable the way she bounced back from every setback, disaster and sometimes even catastrophe. She never seemed bitter, never felt sorry for herself, and was always ready to laugh and enjoy life.

She saw him and scooted over on the bench to make room for him to sit next to her. "Varric's cheating, help me catch him," she whispered conspiratorially.

"Varric always cheats," Fenris said.

'And I can never catch him," Hawke said with a sigh.

Fenris was too preoccupied watching Hawke to notice if Varric was cheating or not. Yet when her face transformed from cheerful, teasing Hawke to steely-eyed, angry Hawke he followed the line of her vision. Anders was coming in through the door.

It all happened very fast. One minute Hawke was sitting next to him, the next minute she was across the room stalking up to Anders. She immediately drew back her fist and punched him. In the face. Hard.

Anders yelled, "_Maker_, Hawke what's wrong with you?" and staggered back, his hands going to his nose, which was suddenly gushing a serious amount of blood. The white/blue light of a healing spell erupted from his hands and soon the blood stopped and his nose returned to normal.

So, Hawke punched him again!

"Stop that!" he shouted, and repeated the healing process all over again.

Fenris watched as Hawke leaned in close to Anders, but as hard as he strained, he could not hear what she said to the mage. Anders face went pale, and he looked over at their table. Fenris was nearly certain the abomination was looking at him, specifically.

Fenris turned to glare at Isabela, who smirked, shrugged and gave him a wink.

So, Isabela had told Hawke what had happened at Ander's clinic, and Hawke had decided that the appropriate response was to punch Anders in the face. _Twice_. He struggled to keep from smiling. _Who's the guard-dog now, mage_, he thought. He rather liked the idea of Hawke protecting him, which surprised him. He had always been the protector, the bodyguard, the first line of defense. It was a role he was used to – comfortable with. Apparently, he was learning to adapt to new circumstances better than he thought.

When Hawke returned to the table and sat next to him, he was surprised once again. She laid a hand on his thigh under the table and squeezed. He lifted his eyebrows and glanced down at her. There was such a sultry look in her eyes, he found he could not look away. He didn't even notice when Anders sat down at the opposite end of the table. He could have cared less. They sat there staring at each other until finally Varric cleared his throat.

"Are you going to discard, Hawke, or sit there making moon eyes at the elf all night?" He asked, one eyebrow lifted.

Hawke laughed, delighted and threw away a serpent.

"Ah, thank you Hawke," Varric said and displayed the four serpents in his hand.

"You're welcome, Varric," she said, but her eyes were back on Fenris.

* * *

The rain was pouring down in buckets by the time they left the Hanged Man. Fenris hesitated, as if he might go back inside the bar, but Hawke laughed, grabbed his hand and took off running.

By the time they reached the sheltered alcove in front of Hawke's door, they were both soaked to the skin, hair plastered to their heads, rivulets of water running down their cheeks. Hawke's smile was wide, her eyes bright and her cheeks flushed from their mad dash up the flight of long stairs. Fenris could not look away - she was captivating.

They came together, he couldn't say who moved first, and it felt as natural as breathing – lips sliding and caressing, hands tangling in hair. The weight of her pressed against him was a delicious pain. Hawke pulled slightly back and with barely an inch between them said, "We stop now or we don't stop at all."

He nodded and told her, "I'm sorry. Watching you punch Anders was… very stimulating."

Hawke said, "Don't be sorry, Fenris." And then added with a smile, "That's me, I'm your champion."

"Why do I like that so much?" he asked, bringing a hand to her cheek.

"You'd think your male pride would be insulted or something," Hawke said with a laugh.

"No," he drawled, "My male pride, as you say, feels quite inflated."

"Mmm, I think that's my cue to go in, or I won't be responsible for my actions."

"One day, Hawke…" he began, then shook his head. The words would not come.

"Yes, one day, Fenris," she agreed. She pulled away and slipped through the front door and was gone.

He stood there for a long time feeling the pain of her absence, before finally making his way back to his mansion.

* * *

She was meandering along her favorite path, which ran alongside the swiftly running stream where she'd played so often as a child. It was good to be back in Ferelden; she'd missed it so. She stopped to admire a butterfly flitting among the wildflowers that grew along the water's edge. The patterns of its wings painted in blues and golds, seemed to twinkle in the leaf-dappled sunlight. The butterfly flew up and landed on her nose, seeming to peer at her with the black orbs of its eyes. That's when she knew she was dreaming – butterflies never did that in real life.

Once she knew she was in the dreaming part of the Fade, she began to notice other things. Miniature dragons in all colors of the rainbow flew above her, spewing out showers of scarlet sparks that swirled around in the gentle breeze, before landing on the grass-carpeted floor of the forest and winking out. Hawke laughed. More grass and less dirt in her dream-version of Ferelden. A gentle music reminiscent of panpipes filled the air, coming from some unknown source. She felt light-hearted and happy, practically dancing along the path. It was wonderful to feel so carefree after so long. She felt like she once did, before the blight had driven her from her home.

When she came upon a stone bridge that traversed the stream, she was not surprised to see her father sitting there, his long legs dangling out over the rushing water. He was wearing his cerulean robes, her favorite, and he greeted her with a soft smile.

"My magic Mari," he said, holding out a hand for her to join him.

She laughed and took his hand as she lowered herself to sit next to him. "Everyone calls me _Hawke_ now, Father," she said, her eyes sparkling. "Do you forget that I'm no mage?"

"You are a Hawke, through and through," he said approvingly. "And no, I did not forget you are no mage, but there are many different kinds of magic in the wide world, Mari." He tapped the tip of her nose. "Yours is of the heart."

"Oh, Father, I have missed you," she said, leaning her head against his shoulder.

"I, on the other hand, have not missed you, Mari. I am with you every day," he told her with a smile.

She frowned. "Then you know how I have failed, Father. Carver was killed by an ogre and the Templars took Bethany to the Circle." She felt tears stinging behind her eyes.

"Those things are not _your_ failures," he said. "One little Mari standing up against all the wrongs in Thedas." He shook his head. "Do not punish yourself for what is beyond your control. Each of us has our own fate, and we must work it out on our own."

She looked up at him. "Some days I'd like punch fate in the nose."

Malcolm laughed that hearty, booming laugh of his that had filled her childhood. "Like you punched that mage?"

Hawke blushed. "Yes, well, he deserved it," she said. "And so, sometimes, does fate."

Her father grew serious. "Mari, we cannot escape our fate, we can only choose how we will meet it."

"I just wish, well, I wish… something," she said with a sigh.

"You're doing well. I'm proud of you," he told her and pulled her into a hug. He released her and glanced up at the sky. "It's nearly time for you to wake up."

"Father…" she began but he interrupted her.

"Listen to me, Mari and understand my words." He took her chin in his hand and looked into her eyes. "Your greatest challenges are yet to come. You must meet them with a true heart. Do not waver. Do not doubt yourself. You _are_ magic, my Mari, in a way few can ever hope to be."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

But he only replied, "I love you, Mari. I am always with you."

"Father!" she yelled as the scene began to dissolve around her. "Father!"

But she could not hold onto the Fade, and woke up in her own bed, her heart full of longing.

_Your greatest challenges are yet to come._

Her father's words haunted her. When she considered the last three years, since her family had fled Ferelden, and thought of the challenges she had already faced, his words did not bode well.

_Do not waver. Do not doubt yourself._

Which was exactly what she was now doing. Doubting her ability to meet the even greater challenges that lie ahead. Now that she'd restored her mother to Hightown, now that Bethany was at least relatively safe in the Circle, she had begun to believe things would get _easier_. Perhaps that's why her father had come to her in her dreams, so that she would not become complacent.

She was a Hawke, through and through, her father had said. Now she just had to find some way to live up to that.

* * *

One of the things Hawke enjoyed most about living in a grand mansion in Hightown was the library. Never in all her life had she had access to, much less _owned_, so many books. She spent many longs nights curled up in front of the fire, studying rune crafting or battle strategies, reading romantic novels and epic poetry. It was wonderful.

It was one such evening several weeks after she had dreamt of her father when her mother poked her head through the door. "You have a visitor," she said. Which was not unusual – her friends dropped in often. Her heart lifted, thinking it might be Fenris, though he rarely came to the estate. She set her book aside and stood to greet her guest.

She was caught completely off-guard when Anders entered the library. She hadn't seen him since she'd broken his nose. _Twice_.

"Don't punch me!" he said, walking in with his arms lifted, as if in surrender.

Hawke couldn't help but grin, even though she was still angry with him. "Anders," she nodded. "I'm not in a punching mood right now, but that _could_ change."

"Depending on?" he asked.

"Entirely depending on you," she replied. She moved back over to the chairs by the fire and offered him a seat.

"Yes, well, I came to apologize," he said looking down at his hands.

"To me? I think you came to the wrong mansion in Hightown," she said.

He looked up at her, his brow lowered. "Sure, I'll just do that… if I want a fist inside my chest. You know he'd never accept an apology from me." Anders shook his head. "But, I am hoping you will. I honestly didn't know that his old master literally kept him on a physical leash."

"You're probably right, Fenris wouldn't accept your apology - he pretty much hates mages on principle."

"Exactly! Hawke, your sister is a mage, your father was a mage. How can you tolerate someone like Fenris, who would have all mages caged or made tranquil?" Anders' voice rose in pitch as he talked.

"Calm down, Anders. We're sitting in my library having a discussion, not at a pulpit preaching on mages and magic." She gave him a piercing look. "After what Fenris has suffered at the hands of mages abusing their power, can you really blame him for how he feels? I really expected more empathy from a healer."

Anders dropped his shoulders and sighed. "You're right of course. If you'd known me before Justice… There's room for little else inside me now."

"I don't expect you and Fenris ever to be friends," she said, "But I won't tolerate cruelty, Anders."

"I told you, I didn't know."

"Yes, you did." She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "And I accept your apology."

He smiled up at her. "Thank you, Hawke." He laid his hand on her arm where it rested on the chair. "You should be careful, though."

"Careful of what?" she asked, doing her best to relax and not break his nose for a third time.

"Fenris. He's like a wild beast. He could turn on you at any moment," Anders said, his face filled with concern.

She jerked her arm away, and in a stern voice said, "Anders…"

"Okay," he said and held his hands palm up, "I don't want to risk more punching."

She smiled. "Good idea."

Anders fixed his gaze upon her before he left, his eyes searching hers. _What is he looking for? _she thought to herself.

He may have apologized, but her instincts were screaming that there was more trouble to come.

* * *

"Merrill?... Merrill!"

"Hmm, oh Hawke! What are you doing here?" asked Merrill.

"I live here," Hawke said with a smile. "Right over there, in fact." She pointed to her doorway. They were standing near the steps that led to the keep.

"Oh, so that's where I am! I wasn't sure." Merrill looked all around her, as if trying to get her bearings.

Hawke bit down on her smile. "Where were you attempting to go, Merrill?"

"Doesn't Fenris live in Hightown?" she asked.

"Yes, not far from the Chantry. Were you looking for Fenris?" Hawke asked.

"Yes," she pulled a ring from her pocket, "I found this in a pile of rubble in the Alienage. I wanted to give it to him."

"What were you doing rooting around in a pile of garbage, Merrill?" Hawke asked with a near laugh.

"Well, you're always doing it, and finding such interesting things, I thought I would try, too," replied Merrill seriously.

Now Hawke did laugh. "I set such a wonderful example," she said.

"Of course you do," Merrill said sincerely, "you're Hawke."

"Ah Merrill," Hawke said and touched the young elf's arm," you are such a treasure."

Merrill blushed and asked, "Will you come with me? Fenris is a bit… scary, but he's always nicer when you're around."

Hawke nodded. "Sure, let's go." They began walking toward the Chantry. "What kind of ring is it?"

"The inscription is Elvhen and says, _The Warrior Who Never Falls in Battle_," Merrill said, handing the ring to Hawke. "But I've never seen that rune before."

Hawke's eyes went wide. "Merrill, this is a Resurrection Rune! I saw it in a book, recently. It's very rare, very valuable."

"What does it do?" asked Merrill.

"Have you ever heard of Mythal's Favor?" asked Hawke.

"Of course," said Merrill. "It's a bomb that heals instead of destroys. The Keeper sometimes made them, though I never learned."

"This rune has the same properties. It revives whoever is wearing it if they are struck unconscious." Hawke considered thoughtfully for a moment before saying, "This rune would work for you as well, Merrill."

"What? Oh no! I want Fenris to have it," Merrill said with a shake of her head. "He doesn't like me very much, and I thought… well, he's a warrior and Elvhen. He should have it."

"You really are very sweet," said Hawke, and stopped at the stairs that led to Hightown Estates. She looked at Merrill intently. "Which is why I don't understand how someone like you got mixed up with blood magic."

"No one understands," said Merrill evasively.

"Not going to talk about it?" asked Hawke.

"No," said Merrill with certain finality.

Hawke sighed. "All right, let's go see Fenris."

* * *

"What's this?" Fenris asked, accepting the ring from Merrill. He eyed her warily, and held the ring as if it might explode at any minute.

"It's a ring, silly," said Merrill. "It's Elvhen."

"What difference is that to me?" he asked, trying to hand it back to her. "I know nothing of the elves except that the Magisters prefer them as slaves."

"Fenris," Hawke interjected. "It's an elven warrior's ring. It has a rare rune on it that revives those who fall in battle."

Merrill looked frightened and took a step back, but did not take the ring from him.

"Why are you giving it to me?" he asked Merrill.

"Y-you are E-elvhen, y-you are a w-warrior," Merrill stuttered.

"Fenris," Hawke said, entreaty in her voice.

Fenris looked at Hawke for a long moment before he looked back at Merrill and said, "Thank you. It is… thoughtful of you."

Merrill let out a breath and smiled timidly. "You're welcome, Fenris," she said. "But really, I have to go, you know, things to be, places to do…" and she hurried out of the room.

"What was that all about?" he asked Hawke.

"She wants you to like her," said Hawke.

"Unlikely," he huffed. "She's a blood mage."

"Merrill is quite the contradiction," Hawke said.

"She dangerous, to herself and others," Fenris said. He examined the ring more closely.

"Try it on," Hawke suggested.

It was a small ring, and fit neatly on his pinkie finger.

"I'm glad you accepted it," she said with a smile. "I won't worry so much when you go charging off into the fray."

He made to remove the ring, "You should have it," he said.

"Oh, no no." She backed away, hands in the air. "Not going to happen."

"Your stubbornness is extremely frustrating," he said, but left the ring on his finger.

"It's part of my charm," she said airily.

"Is that what you call it?" he asked, and the look he gave her was rather smoldering.

Hawke suddenly realized they were alone in his mansion. Why did her stupid eyes have to notice the bed in the corner? Why did her stupid knees have to go weak? And then the thought – _why couldn't they just give into the inevitable_? _Maker_, two years of this and she didn't think she could take it much longer. But, this wasn't just about her. She had to think of Fenris, had to remember that to all intents and purposes, he was emotionally about three years old. She remembered Bethany and Carver at that age – sweet as honey one moment and screaming banshees the next. Fenris needed time. He needed to choose this for himself. So instead of dragging him over to the bed, she said, "I was on my way to see Aveline. Want to come along?"

He considered her with that smoldering gaze for a minute before replying, "All right," with a nod.

Hawke sighed, and tried her best not to be disappointed. Then, just before they exited the mansion, Fenris pulled her into his arms and kissed her breathless. She was hardly aware of it when he pulled away and led her through the door, out into the afternoon sunlight.

_Tricky, tricky, elf._


	13. Chapter 12

"Mother, where is… what was her name?" Hawke asked as she descended the stairs from her room.

"Esmerelle," her mother replied. "I had to let her go. She broke seven plates!"

"That's the fourth servant you've hired in four months," complained Hawke.

"It isn't my fault that they don't work out," her mother said, exasperated. "Jimlin was stealing the silver, Branwell refused to empty the chamber pots and Laurelen kept eating all the pastries."

"Do we really need a servant, Mother?" Hawke asked. "There's just the two of us. Surely we can manage on our own."

"I don't mind doing the cooking," replied her mother, "but the estate is too big for us to keep clean on our own, and there's the garden and all those letters to keep track of." Leandra gestured to the mess of parchments on Hawke's desk.

"Perhaps I can look into it for you," Hawke suggested.

Just then, there was a knock at the door.

"I'll get it," said Hawke. She opened the door and there stood Bodahn and Sandal, smiling up at her.

"Mistress Hawke," said Bodahn. "I wondered if I might have a word with you?"

"Enchantment!" said Sandal, happily.

"Good to see you both," said Hawke sincerely. "Come in."

She led them into the main hall where her mother was attempting to sweep ashes back into the fireplace. "Mother, may I introduce Bodahn Feddic and his son, Sandal."

Leandra stood and dusted ash from her skirt. "Excuse my appearance Serah Feddic," she said, and extended her hand to the dwarf. "And Sandal" she said with a slight nod.

"Yes, as you say," said Bodahn. "It looks like you could use some help with the place."

"Mother can't seem to settle in with anyone we've found so far," said Hawke with a laugh.

"Just so," said Bodahn, "I'd like to offer you my services in repayment for saving my son." He bowed to them.

"What's he talking about, Mari?" asked Leandra.

"Bodahn and Sandal accompanied our expedition to the Deep Roads, Mother," Hawke replied.

"Yes, and your daughter saved my son's life," added Bodahn. "He was lost and she found him."

"Really Bodahn, you don't owe me anything," she said, and then smiled down at the younger dwarf. "Besides, I think Sandal more than paid us back the last time you traveled with us."

"No, no," said Bodahn, "You must allow me to repay you. I don't know what I'd do if I ever lost Sandal."

"Mari, we should give it a try," Leandra said, and she eyed the dwarves speculatively. "We could pay them," she added.

"I couldn't accept payment," Bodahn said, and shook his head. "I have a debt to repay."

"Do you like the shiny?" asked Sandal.

"What does he mean?" asked Leandra, who was clearly puzzled.

"Sandal is an enchanter, Mother," Hawke said, and smiled down at him. "A very skilled enchanter."

"I know my Mari, Mr Feddic," said Leandra firmly, "and unless you accept some sort of payment, well, let's just say she's stubborn."

"Please, call me Bodahn," he said, and tugged on his beard, thinking. "What would you say to room and board for me and my boy?" he asked.

"What's one more mouth to feed?" Leandra said, and the smile that graced her face was genuine. "Mari?"

Hawke nodded once. "Okay, we'll give it a try," she said, and ruffled Sandal's hair.

"Enchantment!" said Sandal happily.

"Just so," said Bodahn.

* * *

Hawke decided she must be a masochist. She'd decided this because she had taken to calling upon Fenris nearly every day. Although it seemed a simple thing, inviting him to go out with her on her various errands, she knew her motives were suspect. Hawke did enjoy spending the time with him, but her true purpose was the inevitable kiss just before they would leave his mansion. She supposed it was a strange compromise to their state of détente, this kissing only at the doorway, but she had become rather addicted to it.

They never discussed it, but neither did Fenris ever fail to pull her into his arms just before opening the door. He would then gently lead her outside, because she was invariably disoriented for several minutes afterward, and had to rely on Fenris to remember just where it was they were going.

So it was that one day she walked into his mansion only to hear giggling coming from the upper floor. Provocative giggling. Very provocative giggling, and it was definitely Isabela _doing_ the giggling.

At first, Hawke's heart sank to her stomach, but that didn't last long before her ire rose, and she stomped up the stairs with the intention of… well, _doing_ something. It might involve fists, she wasn't sure.

When she entered the room she only saw the back of Isabela, and a set of pointy ears peaking out from behind her voluptuous form. Hawke found herself actually reaching for the daggers strapped to her back, when Isabela turned and Hawke saw who it was behind her. It was Jethann, that elf from the Blooming Rose.

"Hawke!" Isabela said. "What are you doing?"

Apparently Hawke still had her hands on the hilts of her daggers. She let them fall to her sides.

"You didn't think…" Isabela began.

"Where is Fenris?" asked Hawke in a carefully neutral tone.

Isabela took a few swaggering steps toward Hawke. "I don't know," she said. "You remember Jethann?"

Hawke nodded at the redheaded elf who was not Fenris.

Jethann said, "I certainly remember your sexy little friend, Bela. Maybe she'd like to join in the fun?" The elf laughed enticingly.

"Of what fun are we speaking?" asked Hawke.

"I got Fenris a present!" Isabela said cheerily. "He's always going around so broody and well, frustrated," she glanced at Hawke meaningfully, "I thought he might enjoy some… relief."

Hawke was speechless. She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out, so instead she folded her arms across her chest and glared.

"That thing you're doing with your face?" Isabela pointed at her, "You really should consider a trip to the Rose, yourself!"

"I still owe you one," Jethann said, "Come by and collect anytime."

Fenris chose that moment to enter the room. "What…" he barely got out before Isabela started up again.

"There you are, Fenris! I've brought you a present!" she said happily, and gestured to Jethann.

"A present?" Fenris asked, confused. He came over to stand next to Hawke.

"Ooo, you have such attractive friends, Bela," said Jethann.

"What is this?" Fenris asked, and turned to Hawke.

"A bad idea," replied Hawke.

"Nonsense," said Isabella. "It's just what you need!"

"What I need?" Fenris repeated.

"Sexy, but not very bright," said Jethann. "Just how I like them."

Fenris finally seemed to wrap his head around what was going on. "You brought a prostitute here?" he asked incredulously.

"Not just any prostitute," said Jethann. "I'm the best."

Fenris' face took on that thundercloud look he usually reserved for Anders. "You both need to leave," he said.

Isabela looked from Fenris to Hawke and back to Fenris again. "Look at the two of you, ready to explode." She threw her arms up in the air. "Why don't you two just _do it_, already?"

"You should reconsider," said Jethann. "You have no idea what you're missing." He did this kind of purring, chuckling thing.

"Out!" said Fenris and pointed to the door.

"Come on, Jethann, let's go back to the Rose and leave these two to their frustrated misery," Isabela said. "_I_ know how to have fun, unlike this pair of wet noodles." She walked past them with a huff.

"Such a shame," Jethann said on his way out.

After they were gone it was several minutes before either Hawke or Fenris said anything.

"Well," Hawke said finally. "That was … odd."

"Apparently Isabela believes I am… frustrated?" Fenris asked.

"Yes, well." Hawke cleared her throat. "You know Isabela, all sex all the time…" _Did I really just say that?_

"I assume you hand no foreknowledge of this _present_," he said.

Hawke lifted one eyebrow. "You assume correctly."

"So you walked in on them doing what?"

"Giggling. There was lots of giggling."

"Giggling?"

"Provocative giggling," she clarified. "To be honest, I didn't know she had Jethann with her when I first walked in." Hawke could feel a blush coming on.

"No? You thought Isabela was provocatively giggling at me?"

Hawke sighed. _I might as well finish humiliating myself_. "I was pulling my daggers when I… realized my mistake."

This time Fenris lifted an eyebrow. "With the intention of doing what, exactly?"

She shrugged. "I didn't really think about it. I…" she shrugged again.

Suddenly, Fenris looked very pleased.

"What?" Hawke asked.

He stepped closer to her. "Were you feeling protective of me, or was it something else?"

_Oh no_, she thought, _his voice is getting way too growly_.

"I wasn't…" Hawke stammered.

"Were you perhaps, jealous?" There was most assuredly a smirk on his face.

_Wait! Is he teasing me?_ "Are you teasing me?" she asked. "Because if you're teasing me I have to say…"

Hawke did not get a chance to finish her sentence, because Fenris had other ideas. Better ideas. His lips descended to hers, playfully at first. He nipped at her full bottom lip as his long fingers slid into her hair. She meant to make a sound of protest, she really did, but instead a soft mewl of need escaped her throat. Suddenly Fenris was no longer teasing, and he took fierce possession of her mouth. Hawke yielded to him, opened to him, and before long was lost in him.

A short time - but not a very short time - later, Fenris helped a disoriented Hawke find her way home.

* * *

For some unknown reason, everyone liked to visit Hawke in her library, and usually said visits always occurred just when she was settling down for the evening with a book and a nice glass of wine.

"I need your help," Isabela said.

"I'm still angry with you," Hawke replied, sleepily.

"Over that Jethann thing?"

Hawke glared.

"I think you're picking up bad habits from Fenris," Isabela said, but when Hawke just glared harder she went on. "Look Hawke, you're confusing sex with feelings. Sex is physical, it's fun, it makes you _feel_ better…"

"For some people," Hawke said, "Sex is about making love."

Isabela studied Hawke closely, her eyes narrowed. "You have had sex, haven't you? I mean, you're not a virgin, are you?"

Hawke was still glaring. "Not that it is any of your business, but no, I'm not a _virgin_."

"You had me scared there for a minute, Isabela said with a laugh, but she didn't let up. "You haven't slept with anyone since I've known you. What is it with you?"

"Like you're trustworthy," Hawke said with a snort.

Isabela actually looked hurt. "How would you know if you've never trusted me with anything?"

"You're confusing me," Hawke said. "You don't like deeply personal exchanges. It's all surface for you, right?"

"I did tell you I was married," Isabela reminded her.

"Why do you want to know about my… past? What difference does it make to you?"

Isabela looked sad. Hurt, now sad? Maker, what was this about?

"I… I do feel bad about the whole Jethann thing. I didn't do that to make you angry, you know." She looked down and shook her head. "I thought I was helping."

Hawke was trying to understand how that could possibly be true. She couldn't, but suppose she gave Isabela the benefit of the doubt? "So you're prodding me about my past so you can, what? Understand me? Learn how not to piss me off in the future?"

"Actually, that about covers it," Isabela said, some of the usual twinkle returned to her eyes.

"All right, let's say we have this little tête-à-tête. How soon before half of Kirkwall is as well informed as you are?"

"I guess I deserve that," Isabela said. "It's just, well, I've never had a friend like you before. It's sort of new territory for me."

"All right," said Hawke carefully. "A trial run, then. What I'm going to tell you, only Bethany knows, so if it gets back to me…"

"You… you're really going to give me a chance?"

"To prove yourself, yes. We've sort of been through a lot together. You deserve it."

"So, is this about sex?" Isabela asked eagerly.

"I don't know whether to laugh or slap you," Hawke said and shook her head.

"I choose laughing, although slapping can be fun if it's done properly."

"Isabela," Hawke warned.

"Right," she said and sat primly, her hands folded in her lap.

"I don't really know where to begin," Hawke said thoughtfully.

"It usually starts, there was a man…" Isabela said helpfully.

Hawke laughed. "In this case it begins: _There was a boy_…"

"He was a cousin of a friend of mine, a little redheaded girl named Kala. From the time I was maybe nine or ten Kala's cousin Ren would come from Denerim and spend the summer on his uncle's farm, helping with the planting and the harvest. Ren was a shrimp of a kid, with the blackest hair I've ever seen and these big gray eyes the color of a summer storm."

"I love summer storms," sighed Isabela.

Hawke smiled at her friend and went on. "So in a way, Ren and I grew up together. When we were very young, Ren and I used to fight horribly. I blackened his eye more than once. But we also had a lot of fun – got into all kinds of trouble together. When I was fourteen he and Carver cut off all my hair while I was sleeping. Until then, I'd always worn it long, down my back. Ever since I've kept it short. It reminds me… well, I was really proud of how beautiful my hair was and I cried for a week after they cut it. I didn't speak to Ren or Carver for the rest of that summer. So, it reminds me that nothing is permanent. Mother has tried ever since to convince me to grow it out again, but I never want to forget how that felt.

"The next summer when Ren came back it was really awkward at first. He had grown tall and for the first time I noticed how handsome he was. So yes, I was still angry with him, but there was this other thing now, too. I used to do the most outrageous things to get his attention. I was training by then, learning backflips and the like. One time I did a backflip off the roof of the barn and landed on my feet right in front of him. Maker, he was angry! So you know what he did? He grabbed me and he kissed me.

"The rest of that summer was all about kissing, and a little bit of groping. And of course, because I was fifteen, I was sure I was in love."

"Ooo!" interrupted Isabela, excitedly. "Which of your bits was he groping?

Hawke only glared at her and continued. "And so it went on for the next couple of summers, Ren and I growing braver and bolder with each other. Everyone in Lothering knew we were a couple; expected us to get married when we came of age. Really, it was so much fun. Dancing at the Summerday Festival, make-out sessions behind the chantry, long walks along the stream sharing all our hopes and dreams.

"The summer I was nineteen Ren didn't show up until the very night of the festival. I was so torn between worry and anger, that I slapped him as soon as I saw him, then threw myself into his arms. That's the night I lost my virginity, out in the woods on a grassy bank by the stream. It was pretty wonderful. And it stayed pretty wonderful for the rest of that summer."

"Details?" Isabela asked eagerly.

"No," said Hawke.

"Spoilsport," Isabela pouted.

"Just before he left to return to Denerim, he asked me for my hand. I said yes, of course. I thought he was everything I ever wanted. It was very difficult once he was gone. I was moody and cried a lot, and Mother had to constantly remind me that when he came back next summer, we would be married. I would return to Denerim with him, where his father was a printer. I suppose it would have been a good life. He was very kind and a fiery lover.

"That winter, everything changed. Father became very ill, and by the spring, just after my twentieth birthday, we gathered together at the Chantry for his funeral pyre.

"Mother was a wreck, and suddenly the responsibility for our family was on me. I had promised Father I would watch out for them - take care of them. And so I did. I also wrote a letter to Ren, breaking our engagement."

"You did what? Why?" asked Isabela, incredulously.

"Who's telling this story?" asked Hawke.

"Go on then," Isabela said with a sigh and a wave of her hand.

"Of course he arrived in Lothering a few weeks later, trying to change my mind. Promising me we'd work it out, that he would help me care for my mother and the twins. He didn't understand. When Father died, it was like I grew up all at once. Everything from my life before had ceased to matter to me. I still cared for Ren, but it was obvious to me I didn't love him. I wasn't at all interested in making a life with him anymore.

"Maybe I broke his heart, I don't know. I'm sure he found some nice girl in Denerim, and has a dozen children by now. But that summer I was nineteen was one of the happiest times of my life."

Hawke grinned at Isabela, "And I spent most of it having sex."

Isabela said, "But that's it? Ren's the only person you've ever had sex with?"

Hawke sighed. "Yes, Isabela. I told you, I stepped in for Father. I also increased my training, because there were always soldiers coming through Lothering in those days. Maybe I knew at some level what was coming, I don't know. I just knew what I had to do, and I did it."

"You mean you knew the Blight was coming?" Isabela asked in awe.

"Of course not. I would have gotten us out of Lothering long before I did, if I'd known." Hawke sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "I just knew I was preparing for something. I didn't know what."

"That was a lovely story, Hawke, but it still doesn't explain why you haven't had sex since then."

"I'm not so sure I want to talk about this with you, Isabela."

"I mean all those soldiers you mentioned."

Hawke shrugged. "I wasn't interested. I don't know why."

"And since you came to Kirkwall?"

Hawke shrugged again but said nothing.

"Then it is Fenris," said Isabela.

Hawke still didn't answer.

"You're in love," said Isabela. "I thought it was just, well Fenris is so… yummy, so intense and just oozes that sexy elf thing…but you're in love with him."

"I don't want to talk about it," said Hawke.

"But…"

"I just shared with you a very personal story that only my _sister_ knows completely," said Hawke. "Trial run, remember?"

Isabela made a pouty face, but said, "I remember."

"So no more talking about me. What did you need help with?" asked Hawke. "Relic hunting again?"

"No, not the relic," Isabela said, squirming a little. "Turns out someone other than Castillon wants me dead."

"Just how did you become so skilled at making enemies?" asked Hawke.

"It's a gift," replied Isabela.

"Perhaps you should return it," Hawke told her.

Isabela sighed. "If only I could."

"Who is this someone who wants you dead?"

"It's not exactly a _someone_. It's the Coterie."

"Um, nice knowing you?" Hawke's eyebrows disappeared beneath her wisp of bangs.

"Hawke!"

"The entire Coterie, Isabela?"

"Fortunately, no. I had a little disagreement with a West Side faction," she explained.

"Over?" Hawke felt like she was dragging a cart uphill trying to get this story out of Isabela.

"I suppose sometimes my reputation does get me in trouble," Isabela continued to prevaricate.

Hawke huffed. "Meaning?" she asked.

"A charming gentleman named Branson heads up the West Side. He and his boys chose me for the evening's _entertainment_."

"And you didn't agree."

"It's not that I don't sometimes enjoy…"

"What? An orgy?" Hawke provided.

Isabela laughed. "That's one way to put it. But these louts weren't playing nice, Hawke, and they smelled really bad, like they'd been rolling around in the Darktown sewers."

"Perhaps they had," Hawke suggested, grinning. "You know the Coterie, they just love Darktown."

Isabela shrugged. "I'm no fan of forced entry, either way."

"So, where do we find these _louts_?" Hawke asked.

"Varric's tracking them down for me," Isabela said.

Hawke sighed. It was nearly midnight and instead of curling up in her nice, warm bed, it was time to armor-up and go to Lowtown. "You're going to owe me one, Isabela."

"Where are you going?" Isabela asked as Hawke started walking across the courtyard. "Stairs to Lowtown, this way."

"We're going to get Fenris," Hawke replied in a tone that implied Isabela was forgetting the obvious. "If you intend to survive the fight with your _louts_, we better take him along."

"That's a nicely valid excuse," purred Isabela.

Hawke stopped and grabbed Isabela's arm. "Here's where we find out if you learned anything about how not to make me angry."

"Are you suddenly going to stop being fun?" Isabela asked, doing that little pouty thing with her lip. "Because that would be a shame."

Hawke couldn't stop her smile. "Come on, then."

* * *

"Fenris?" Hawke called up the stairs. Isabela was under strict instructions to wait outside. She had never come to Fenris' mansion this late. What if he were asleep? In bed. In bed, but not asleep? _Stop that Hawke_. "Fenris!" she called again.

He came to the landing, one hand holding his sword, the other hand sifting through his white mop of hair. "Hawke?"

So he had been asleep. And shirtless. Shirtless and asleep in his bed. She realized she was staring at him. _Stop ogling and form coherent thoughts!_

"Is something wrong?" he asked, and started down the steps toward her.

"No, no. Nothing's wrong," she said.

"Why are you here?" he asked, still descending.

Why was she here? Oh yes. "We're going hunting tonight. I hoped you would come," she managed, even though she was distracted by the way his markings seemed to faintly glow in the dim light.

"Hawke?"

She looked up at his face. His smirking face. He was enjoying this. What was going on in that head of his?

Two could play at this game. "Fenris?" Well, maybe she could play if his naked chest didn't distract her again.

"Hunting what?" he asked, and he stood just two steps above her now.

His chest was right at eye level. Did he do that on purpose? "Who." She said.

"Who?"

"Hunting who, or is it whom? Well, it's people anyway." It was a real struggle to keep her eyes on his face, and she was getting a crick in her neck. This wasn't fair. She should distract him with her naked chest, and see how he liked it. Wait, that was a visual that obliterated her thoughts again – both of them with naked chests. She shivered.

"You don't play fair," Hawke accused him.

"What is it we are playing?" he asked, and Maker if his voice didn't sound seductive.

"You don't see me flaunting my naked chest at you, making it so… you… can't… think, um straight." When had the connection between her brain and her mouth been severed? Maker!

Fenris looked down at her chest, which made it very difficult for Hawke to breathe. When he lifted his hand and trailed a finger over the curve of one breast, breathing became impossible. She couldn't actually feel his touch through the leather of her armor, but she could _feel_ his touch all the way down to her toes.

As if of its own accord her hand lifted to his bare chest. Her fingers lightly brushed the skin over his heart, only a feather touch, but she heard him suck in a quick breath, and she quickly dropped her hand and looked back into his eyes - his smoldering eyes, through heavy lids.

A creaking door, and Isabela's voice, "Heelllooo?"

"Isabela's here," whispered Hawke, inanely.

Fenris didn't seem to be fazed. His gaze remained locked with hers, a fire burning there.

"She needs help," Hawke said with a quavering voice.

"Help," he growled. "Yes."

"Fenris…"

"Anybody home?" Isabela's voice drifted up to them. "I'm coming in now," she added.

That got Fenris moving. He turned and retreated back into his room. Hawke sank to the steps. Standing had become a major challenge.

"Where's Fenris?" asked Isabela. She then looked at Hawke through narrowed eyes. "You're flushed! Ooo, did I interrupt something delicious?"

"Not now, Isabela," Hawke said.

"Later, then? Can I tease you about this later?" Isabela sat next to Hawke on the steps. "Because that would be so much fun."

* * *

Hawke, Isabela and Fenris entered the Hanged Man in the wee hours of the morning. The bar was deserted except for one drunk snoring in the corner. Varric was sitting in his usual spot at his long table, scribbling away in his big, leather-bound book.

"Good, you're still up," said Isabela. "Find out anything?"

Varric set his quill down, and laid a blotting paper over the page he'd been writing on before closing the book. "Of course I did," he said.

"How about, did you find out anything useful?"

"That too," said Varric. "What good is information if it's not useful? Well, unless it's entertaining. That works, too."

Hawke was beginning to recover her wits, and attempted a full sentence. "What is this useful information?" There! She did it. Whew.

"Just the location of this Branson person's home base," Varric said, his expression smug.

* * *

Fenris wasn't sure just why he was headed to Darktown in the middle of the night hunting Coterie. No, that wasn't true. The answer to that question was directly in front of him, her hips swaying slightly as she walked through the deserted streets.

Hawke.

His skin continued to burn where she'd touched him, and not in a bad way. It was a fiery warmth, one that spread along the lines of lyrium in his chest, where her fingers had barely brushed him to well, everywhere he was branded. Which was nearly everywhere he had skin.

Since that night he had rescued her from the mad Magistrate, Fenris had been very careful to keep control around Hawke. He had started to understand just how unrestrained his feelings for her were. So he allotted himself only so much of her - a sip, a taste of her lips and that was all. It was enough, or it had been, until she'd planted that image of her standing naked before him on the stairway into his mind - until she'd touched him above his heart. He'd been mindful not to allow those particular kinds of fantasies to take root. _Venhedis_. He had to focus now or he could risk all their lives.

"Elf," Varric's raspy voice got his attention.

"What is it?" asked Fenris, and for once he was glad for the distraction.

"What wrong with you tonight?" asked Varric.

"Nothing is wrong," Fenris replied. "Unless you consider being in Darktown in the dark as wrong."

Varric chuckled. "I might, but that's not what I'm talking about."

"What _are_ you talking about?" Fenris was becoming impatient.

"It's the look on your face. I've never seen it before," Varric said speculatively.

"My face?"

"Yeah. I'm used to the brooding, the moping, the glaring and glowering, but you look… different."

"Dare I ask what you mean?" Why he was encouraging the dwarf, he didn't know.

"You look hungry. Voracious, even."

That brought Fenris up short, and he did his best to pull on the mask of indifference, which was so familiar to him from his years of slavery. "I don't know what you mean," he said, sounding bored now.

"Too late," said Varric. "I already saw it."

"Leave it be, dwarf," he said.

"Heh, I can leave it be, but can you?"

The problem was, Fenris didn't think he could, and what that might mean he did not know. He knew what it might lead to, but the consequences were a mystery to him. He only knew what he wanted. _Who_ he wanted. And Varric was right, he was hungry for Hawke in a way he'd never experienced in his life. He was more hungry than when that bitch Hadriana had denied him meals for days on end. More hungry than when he'd been penniless and on the run. And it wasn't for food – no. It was for Hawke.

"Just through there," said Varric, pointing to what appeared to be a haphazard pile of lumber. The entrance was only visible from the side, behind two weathered planks.

Despite her years of training, Hawke knew Isabela was still far superior at stealth than she was. She glanced at the other woman and said, "Want to scout it out?"

Isabela nodded and disappeared from sight, seemingly right before their eyes. "How does she do that?" Hawke asked no one in particular.

"Necessity," said Varric. "She'd be dead by now if she couldn't."

Isabela reappeared several minutes later. "It's pathetic," she said. "They don't even have a guard." She shook her head. "It smells like a brewery in there, and they're all snoring."

"What do you want to do?" asked Hawke.

"I want to go in and knife them all in their sleep," she admitted. "But that doesn't feel right. Maker knows why – they certainly deserve it."

Hawke retreated into herself, as she always did when she strategized. If she relaxed her mind in just the right way, she'd get a picture, a moving picture, of the best way to proceed. It would all play out in her head, and all she had to do was make it a reality.

The others watched her patiently, used to this from Hawke. Because she never let them down, they didn't question her methods.

"Tar bombs," she said.

Isabela's face lit with a happy grin. "We smoke them out."

Hawke nodded. "Then it's a fair fight out here in the open."

"Sweet thing," Isabela said, "you're the best."

In the end, Branson and his gang all lay dead except for one. They sent a very young, very scared young man back with a message. Mess with Isabela and you mess with Hawke. Fewer and fewer people were willing to mess with Hawke these days.

* * *

Hawke kept glancing surreptitiously at Fenris as they walked back to Hightown together. He hadn't spoken since they'd dropped Varric and Isabela at the Hanged Man. It was beginning to worry her.

"Fenris," she said as they entered the Hightown Market, and then couldn't think of what else to say.

He stopped among the empty merchant stalls and waited for her to go on.

"You're awfully quiet," she said. It was the best she could come up with.

"I suppose I am," he said.

Well, that didn't leave her much of an opening. Out with it then. "Is something bothering you?"

She was relieved when a small smile curved his lips. But what he said caused the nerves along her spine to prickle.

"You," he said. "You bother me."

What was she supposed to say to that? Welcome to the club? You've been bothering me for years? She didn't pretend not to understand him. "It has become rather… intense," she said in a low voice. And even though the rational part of her brain understood why they had not taken their attraction to its logical conclusion, her heart was screaming, _what are you waiting for?_

For a while they stood there lost in each other's gazes.

"Maybe we should…" she began.

"There are many reason why we should not," he said, surprising her. She was going to say, _call it a night._

"But with each day that passes, those reasons seem more and more meaningless," he continued.

Oh Maker, she'd been relying on his control, his ability to keep things from going too far. If his control was slipping, they were in trouble. Her heart, however, had other ideas. It was leaping in great bounds of happiness. Other parts of her were pretty happy, too.

"We could find out," she finally said.

He took her hand and said, "I'm not thinking clearly." He shook his head. "Truthfully, I'm not thinking at all."

"If you're not ready…"

"Ready?" he said moving closer. "I am more than ready, Hawke," he growled. "It is not about that. You know of what I speak."

She did. After these many years with him, she knew. The strength of the argument had worn thin for her after the years of waiting, wanting - but the cold hard fact was, until Danarius was dead, Fenris would not be truly free, no matter that he was no longer a slave. Until he was free, he felt he had nothing to offer her. Felt he was dangerous to her.

Hawke nodded and, with his hand still in hers, resumed moving through the market. Soon they stood at her door.

"Goodnight," she said and leaned in to brush his lips - intending a soft kiss, a show of affection.

Fenris would have none of that. He claimed her lips, possessed her mouth and had her incoherent and reeling within minutes. When he pulled away the look he gave her was just as possessive; the intensity of it took her breath away – again. The man seriously interfered with her ability to breath properly.

"Goodnight," he said, and walked away. He didn't look back, though Hawke watched him until he disappeared into the darkness.


	14. Chapter 13

"They're black," said Varric. "I'm sure they are black."

Fenris shook his head. "You are wrong. They are a dark shade of green."

"Hmph," said Varric. "I won't take the bet, because you have the unfair advantage of close proximity."

"Coward," said Fenris. "You lack the courage of your conviction."

"You're just prodding me into taking the bet because you know you'll win, and you need the coin." Varric chuckled. "No way, elf."

"Fifty silvers?" Fenris offered.

Varric considered. "Twenty, and that's my final offer."

Fenris shrugged. "Done."

"So where is Hawke?" asked Varric. "She hasn't been around much this week."

"Hawke's right here," said Hawke as she entered Varric's room. "My favorite elf and my favorite dwarf, sitting around talking about me." She took the seat next to Fenris. "Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy."

"Hawke, lean in," Varric said. He crooked one finger and beckoned to her.

"What's this about, Varric?" she asked, and looked at him suspiciously.

"Just do it, I won't bite." He leaned over the table toward her with a smirk. "Much"

She glanced at Fenris, who only shrugged. Rather than stand up and walk around to where Varric sat, Hawke leaned over Fenris' lap toward the dwarf. She held herself steady by gripping his thigh. The muscle there jumped when she touched him.

"Look me in the eye," said Varric.

"What? Why?" Hawke said, laughing.

"Just do it," said Varric.

So she did. Their noses were practically touching as Varric stared deeply into her eyes.

"Hmph. Okay," he said and waved Hawke away.

Her grip tightened on Fenris' thigh as she pushed herself back into her chair.

"Pardon me," she smiled at him.

His return smile was rather predatory.

"Okay what? What's going on?" Hawke looked back and forth between Varric and Fenris.

"The elf just won twenty silvers, that's what," said Varric as he dug into his coin purse.

"The color of your eyes," said Fenris. "Varric thought they were black."

"They do appear black from a distance," Hawke agreed. "You have to be very close to see the green." She winked at Fenris.

"Like I said," Varric grumbled. "Unfair advantage."

Fenris collected his silver very smugly.

"So, what's the word in Lowtown, Varric?" Hawke asked. She grabbed a handful of almonds from the bowl Varric kept on the table, and began popping them into her mouth one at a time.

"Other than Rivaini's little Coterie problem last week, it's been quiet." He paused and scratched his chin. "Maybe too quiet, if you ask me."

"I am asking you," Hawke said, and grinned. "What's Bianca whispering in your ear?"

"She has been twitchy, but she won't say why," Varric said. "You know how women are, Hawke."

"How's that?" Hawke drawled.

"They keep all the best secrets to themselves."

That made Hawke laugh.

"See what I mean?" Varric chuckled. "You're not even bothering to deny it."

Fenris looked at Hawke speculatively. Was Hawke keeping secrets? She seemed so open and honest – painfully so at times. And what were _best_ secrets? In what way did they differ from other, lesser secrets?

"The elf looks confused," said Varric to Hawke, with a slight jerk of his head. "Don't try to figure it out," he said to Fenris, "it will only give you a headache."

They all turned to the very loud clanking coming from the direction of the stairwell. "Aveline," they all said at once.

Aveline entered the room. "Hawke, Varric, Fenris," she said and nodded to each of them.

"How have you been, Hawke?" asked Aveline, and took the seat across from her.

"Truthfully, I've been a little bit bored, Aveline," Hawke replied. "We were just talking about how quiet it's been lately."

"You've noticed that, have you?" asked Aveline. She was wearing her serious _I'm the guard captain_ face.

"What do you know?" Hawke asked in turn.

"I know that other than some noise down in Darktown last week, the criminal elements of Kirkwall have been conspicuously absent." She looked at Hawke meaningfully. "Some _Coterie_ noise."

"Well," said Hawke evasively, "the Coterie is always causing trouble."

"Someone wiped out most of the West Side," said Aveline. "Know anything about that, Hawke?"

"Are you looking to arrest someone, Aveline?" Hawke was grinning at the guard captain.

Aveline sighed. "No, of course not. I just want to know why that's been the only sign of trouble in over a month."

"Perhaps someone sought them out?" suggested Hawke.

Aveline nodded, "I see. That makes sense then." She turned to Varric. "You've got your finger of the pulse of the underground, Varric. What's going on?"

"Like you said, quiet," replied Varric, "and I'm thinking it's not in a good way."

"Ha! That's Kirkwall for you, things get quiet and everyone gets nervous," said Aveline.

"This city is usually addicted to crisis," grumbled Varric.

"Sadly true," Aveline said, and shook her head.

"What? Having a party without me?" said Isabela as she walked in the room, with Merrill tagging along behind her.

"Will there be cake?" asked Merrill. "I haven't had cake in so long."

"No cake, Merrill," said Hawke, "but if you come by the estate later, I'm sure Mother can take care of that for you. She's been baking up a storm all week."

"Are you sure, Hawke? I don't think your mother likes me very much," replied Merrill.

Fenris grunted, but kept his _blood mage_ comments to himself.

"Don't take it personally, Merrill," Hawke soothed. "Ever since she's returned to her childhood home Mother has, well, let's just say she's reverted to being _Lady_ Amell, again."

"After all she's been through, Leandra deserves to be happy," said Aveline.

"Oh, I don't mind her being happy, it's the pompous thing that starts to get to me," Hawke said, grinning.

Fenris had been sitting idly, listening to the banter around the table, content for the moment to be sitting at Hawke's side with nothing particular going on. What happened next came upon him without warning, and with the force and power of a lightning bolt shooting down unexpectedly from a clear sky.

It was as if a heavy curtain of fog and smoke suddenly lifted, and the bright light of a noonday sun illuminated his life. His life _now_, as it was, without the residual taint that slavery had left upon it. Here he was among _friends_. He was part of something greater, purer, more meaningful than he could every have imagined during his years as a slave. These people, his peers, relied upon him for his strength and his skill – things he gave them willingly because he chose to do so. He became intensely aware that he was comfortable, warm, dry and well fed. He was not in pain, and there was no one taunting him or humiliating simply to amuse themselves. There was also no one asserting their power over him. He felt this truly for the first time.

His life of freedom took on a reality he had not yet experienced in all the years since his escape. Things he had known only in his head suddenly became real in his heart.

Hawke spoke then, and though he could not comprehend her words, so overwhelmed was he by this new torrent of feeling, his attention was drawn to her nonetheless. This woman by his side was so much more than anyone he'd ever known. She was kind, honest, beautiful, and brave. He'd never had the audacity to hope that someone like her would walk into his life. In those brief moments, he understood just what a miracle she was. And that she was drawn to him, responded to him, wanted him – it was more than a miracle. How had he not seen? How had he not felt this?

As quickly as it had lifted, the curtain descended again, leaving him shaken. Leaving him knowing what he _should_ be feeling, but what the hatred and rage inside of him continually overshadowed. To know what his life could be like, could _feel_ like, fueled the fire of hatred in his heart for Danarius, and for everything his former master had done to him. And even though he knew it was that very hatred that stood between him and true freedom, it was all that was left to him - a paradox of the worst kind.

"Fenris?" Hawke said. She looked at him, her face filled with concern.

He did not know what he might have said or done in the last few minutes, and the powerful need to get away had him up and out of his chair. "Excuse me," he said without looking at Hawke, without looking at any of them. He left.

* * *

He was on the bridge to Hightown when Hawke caught up with him.

"Fenris, wait," she called.

He waited.

"What was that about?" she asked. The concern had not left her face.

He shook his head, not knowing what to say, how to explain.

People were starting to stare at them as they stood in the middle of the bridge, blocking the way. It was early evening and the business of the city was closing down for the day.

"Let's walk," she said, and they did.

Hawke didn't try to question him again. She followed him to Hightown, through the market and past her estate, through the Chantry Courtyard and up the stairs to his borrowed mansion. Even after they were inside, she remained silent until they were seated on the low bench in front of the cold fireplace.

"Fenris?" she asked.

"I'm sorry," was all he said.

"What are you sorry for?" She sounded confused.

"I don't know what happened back there," he said.

"From where I was sitting, you turned white as a ghost, and practically ran from the room," she said.

"That's all?" he asked.

She nodded. "What did you think happened?"

"I told you, I did not know. I…" He shook his head again.

"Did you have some kind of blackout?"

"Not like that. I can't…" He wanted to tell her, but what would he say? _For a few minutes I felt completely normal and saw my life clearly?_ How could he expect Hawke to understand when he didn't understand it himself?

"No worries, Fenris," she said softly. "You don't need to explain." She held her hand out to him.

He took it gratefully, sliding his fingers through hers. The touch seemed to ease something that had wound tightly inside of him. Hawke slid along the bench until they were sitting shoulder-to-shoulder and thigh-to-thigh and said playfully, "Well, it's nice to be alone with you, whatever the reason."

How could she do that? Make him smile when he was feeling so lost and confused?

"That's better," she said smiling back at him. "It's a good thing you're out of sorts, or I might try to take advantage of the situation."

"Would you now?" he asked.

"Oh yes," she said sincerely. "I might be kissing your neck at this very moment."

"My neck is it?" He was beginning to relax - to enjoy their teasing despite himself.

She eyed him thoughtfully. "Your ears look rather tasty, too."

He examined her ear. "So do yours." He could feel the growl emanating from his chest.

She considered him. "Hmm, should I allow you a taste?" She sighed. "It could be risky."

"Yes, I agree," he said. "Very risky."

The playfulness left her voice then, and she caught his eyes with her own. "Some things are worth the risk, Fenris."

In answer, he leaned toward her and caught the lobe of her ear with his teeth, before drawing it into his mouth. Hawke made a little mewing sound in her throat, and he pulled back to look at her. "Delicious," he said.

"Maybe you should check the other one," she said tilting her head for him. "It might be defective."

So he repeated the process and she mewed again. "Also delicious," he said, but before she could say anything else he tasted the pulse at her throat very thoroughly. Hawke didn't allow that for very long before her hands came up to his cheeks and pulled his mouth to hers. He lost himself in the taste of her, in the familiar pull of want as their tongues danced together. When he lifted his head he saw that she was somehow on his lap. She'd locked her arms around his neck, and his hands were high on her waist, just below her breasts.

"Oh my," Hawke breathed. "Risky indeed." There was a question in her eyes.

What was holding him back? Why would he not take this final step with her? The memory of what happened today washed over him, reminded him of what she was offering. What he could not hope to reciprocate, at least not yet. Perhaps today was a prelude; perhaps he would yet be able to reclaim his own heart so that he might offer it to her.

As much as it pained him to do it, he kissed her forehead and lifted her off his lap. He saw the disappointment in her eyes, but it was soon gone and she was smiling at him again. "I guess I'll head home, then."

Fenris walked her to the door, but the kiss they shared this time was chaste, just a brush of lips.

"You know where to find me," she said, and was gone.

* * *

When Hawke returned home, her head filled with memories of the past hour with Fenris (just how had she ended up on his lap?) Aveline was there having tea with her mother.

"Hawke, there you are," said Aveline. "You ran off before I could finish talking to you."

Leandra gave Mari a sharp look.

"Let me get out of these leathers and I'll be right down," she said in passing. She did not want to open up a conversation about Fenris in front of her newly re-nobled mother.

She returned a few minutes later, dressed much more comfortably, and joined the two women at the table.

"Tea, Mari?" asked her mother.

"Yes, thank you," replied Hawke. It was all very formal these days.

As her mother poured the tea, Hawke asked Aveline, "So, what else did we have to discuss?"

"I wanted to ask for your help," Aveline said. "If this silence in the Undercity is fair warning of something big coming, I want to know about it."

Hawke accepted the delicate teacup from her mother with a nod. "Do you have a plan?"

My father always used to say, "If you don't have a plan, you have a problem," Aveline said with a sad smile.

"Which one do we have?" asked Hawke.

"That depends on you," said Aveline.

Leandra spoke up then, "I know Mari is very helpful, Aveline, but I don't like the idea that she is putting herself in danger." She lifted her teacup and sipped daintily. "It's not necessary anymore. We've accomplished our goal."

_Not this argument_, thought Hawke. "I've accomplished _your_ goal, Mother. I still have a few of my own."

"Goals that require you to risk your life everyday?" Leandra set her teacup down so forcefully, liquid splashed over the rim. "Really Mari, it's time you settled down. Several eligible suitors have been inquiring after you."

Hawke could see Aveline trying to suppress a grin. She shot the Guard Captain a dirty look and replied to her mother, "Why don't we discuss this later, Mother?"

"You always say that, Mari, and there is never a later." Leandra stood and excused herself to Aveline, leaving them alone.

"Suitors, huh?" asked Aveline.

"Do not go there," replied Hawke.

"As you wish," Aveline said, but she no longer suppressed her grin.

"What is it you want me to do, exactly?" Hawke asked with a sigh.

Aveline's face grew serious. "I want you to make yourself a target."

Hawke actually laughed out loud at that one. "A target? I'm not already a target?" she asked once she'd caught her breath.

"I suppose you are." Aveline was not laughing. "But I'm talking about setting a trap."

"And I'm the bait?" Hawke asked. "Wonderful."

"I wouldn't have put it that way, but sort of," Aveline said, and her lips curved down in a frown.

"Spit it out, Aveline." Hawke folded her arms across her chest and waited.

"There's one thing that every illegal organization in the Undercity wants," said Aveline.

"That's easy," said Hawke, "lyrium."

Aveline nodded. "Knight Captain Cullen…"

"You mean the only relatively sane Templar in the Gallows." It was a statement, not a question.

"He is a reasonable man," agreed Aveline. "And he has agreed to lend the City Guard a crate of raw lyrium."

"I'm not sure I like where this is going," Hawke said, apprehensively.

"We'll need to talk to Varric, but I thought we could use his contacts to spread the word in the right places," Aveline continued.

"Let me guess, that a shipment of raw lyrium will be delivered to _such and such_ a place at _such and such_ a time," said Hawke.

"Yes."

"And I'm the delivery person."

Aveline has the good grace to look reluctant. "Yes."

"Won't they know it's a trap as soon as they find out it's me making the delivery?"

"Not if you're disguised."

"You're kidding," Hawke said incredulously.

"The guard will provide you with what you need at the city's expense," explained Aveline. "Surely with different armor, maybe a wig?"

"A wig?" Hawke laughed. "Are you sure this is a plan?"

"Hawke! This is important." Aveline stood and began pacing. "We need to draw these people out into the open. Take some prisoners, do some interrogating." She stopped and looked at Hawke. "Find out what they're planning."

"A wig," Hawke said, and shook her head.

"Maybe blond?" suggested Aveline.

* * *

"This would be a lot more fun if you didn't have to wear this cruddy armor," said Isabela with a huff. "I have the cutest little skirt with a matching bodice." She looked at Hawke with hooded eyes. "A very tight bodice."

"Concentrate on the hair," said Hawke. "I'm supposed to look like a hired guard, not like I'm plying my wares."

"Such a shame," Isabela tsked. "We have several choices," she said and reached into a small crate. "Blond, Red or Black."

They were in Isabela's room at the Hanged Man, preparing Hawke's disguise.

"Anything but brown is fine," replied Hawke. "I don't really care."

Isabela looked at her speculatively. "You know, I've never met anyone as beautiful as you are who wasn't a peacock."

"Peacock?" asked Hawke.

"Vain," replied Isabela. "Obsessed with how they look, what they wear, their makeup and their shoes."

Hawke laughed. "Can you imagine me worrying about shoes? I don't even own a pair!" She looked down at her _fancy_ boots, as she called them. There was no way she would go into this mess without them.

"You mean your mother hasn't taken you to the dressmaker or the cobbler yet?"

"Oh she'd loved to have me all trussed up and ready for the first Lord's son who would have me." Hawke said picking up the blond wig. It was shoulder length and straight. "So far I have resisted."

"Good for you!" Isabela said. "Here let me help you."

She settled the blond wig on Hawke's head, tugging and fluffing until she was satisfied.

"Well, look at you," Isabela said and turned Hawke to face the mirror. "You look like a princess."

Hawke had to admit the change in her appearance was striking. Her mother would probably love it. "Too pretty," she said. "Remember? Hired guard?"

Isabela plucked the wig off her head. "Alright, let's try the black one."

The black wig was much shorter, with long bangs that covered her forehead.

"Mysterious," cooed Isabela as she arranged the wig to her satisfaction.

"Not bad," Hawke said. She picked up the last wig, a darker shade than Aveline's red hair. It was long and hung in soft waves. "This one is too long. There's no way I could fight with this on my head."

"Try it on anyway," said Isabela.

Hawke sighed. "I'm glad someone is having fun."

They both stared at Hawke's reflection once the red wig was on her head. "Red isn't my color," said Hawke.

"You don't even look Orlesian," complained Isabela. "Red hair makes almost everybody look Orlesian."

Hawke tossed the offending wig back into the crate. "Black it is then."

The experiment was: Hawke would walk into the Hanged Man on a busy night wearing her disguise, and find out if any of her companions recognized her. Only Aveline and Isabela would be in on it. They'd helped her get ready at her estate, and then went to gather the rest of their friends for a night of friendly cards and drinking.

Several hours later she walked into the bar. A few heads turned - the usual drunken fools who viewed any unknown woman as potential fresh meat. She ignored them and walked over to order a drink from Corff. Ale in hand, and no sign of recognition from the bartender, Hawke sat down at an empty table near the wall and drank her pint, scanning the room surreptitiously.

Her friends were gathered at a long table near the center of the room. Varric was dealing cards and Anders was insisting he use a new deck, as usual. Merrill was giggling at something Isabela was whispering in her ear, and Aveline was standing behind Varric, obviously not playing this rounds of cards. The Guard Captain glanced at her very briefly. At the end of the table sat Fenris, looking down into his pint of ale. Every now and then he would glance up at the door, and she knew he was watching for her. It made her both happy and sad at once. Seeing him sitting there with everyone, and yet so obviously alone with himself, was sad. But her heart did a little dance at the thought he was thinking of her. Waiting for her to arrive. She blinked. That meant she had walked into the bar and Fenris had not recognized her. Well, well – perhaps this would work after all.

More testing was required, however.

Norah brought her another pint but said nothing. Another success. Norah always called Hawke "Love" and had a smile for her - Hawke was a good tipper.

Time to push her luck a little.

She moved to a closer table, where the light was better. Varric looked up and gave her a once over, but returned to his cards. Normal Varric behavior – check out the new person. Anders and Merrill both had their backs to her and this time when she looked at Fenris... he was staring right at her. As soon as she met his gaze he looked away, back to the door. But after that she noticed he would glance her way every now and then.

Feeling emboldened, she took a turn around the room, watching for any sign of recognition from her friends. Anders gave her a speculative glance, but Merrill never even looked her way. All in all, she thought her disguise passed the test, and had decided she was done with this little charade for the evening, when a rascally thought hit her. She glanced at Fenris, who watched her as she moved toward the door. Just before she opened it and slipped out into the night, she looked directly at him and gave him her best smile.

She went no further than to lean against the wall outside and wait, counting: _one, two, three, four, five…_

Fenris emerged, looking around. He saw her standing there and stared at her through narrowed eyes. "Hawke?"

She laughed and pulled the wig from her head. "None other," she said.

He was not amused. "What have you done?"

"Not here," she said. "Come on." Hawke grabbed his hand and pulled him along with her through the darkened streets.

To his credit, Fenris did not question her further until they reached her Hightown estate. He hesitated when she opened the door with her key and made to enter. "It's fine," she said. "If you're worried about Mother, she's off at some fancy lady's social tonight."

Bodahn greeted them. "Good evening," he said. "Good to see you, Messere Fenris."

Hawke found it rather odd that Bodahn always called Fenris messere, but she rather liked it, too. "Bring a bottle of wine to the library?" Hawke said over her shoulder as she continued to pull Fenris along.

"Right away, Mistress Mari," he said.

As soon as they entered, Hawke tossed the wig on a table and began unbuckling her _disguise_ armor. It was heavier than what she was used to, and she felt a flicker of concern at her ability to fight properly while wearing it.

"What are you doing?" asked Fenris. "And why are you disguised?"

"Right now I'm taking the disguise off," said Hawke with a wicked little grin. "After which, we'll have a nice glass of wine and I'll explain everything."

Fenris watched her intently. She had half a mind to strip down all the way to her small clothes just to see his reaction, but stopped at her leather breaches and sleeveless tunic. "Much better," she said with a wink.

Bodahn entered with a tray of wine, bread and cheeses. "Will you be needing anything else?" asked the dwarf.

"Thank you, no. Bodahn, this is perfect," Hawke said, taking the tray from him and setting it down on the sideboard.

"Goodnight then Mistress, Messere Fenris." The dwarf bowed and exited the library.

Hawke handed Fenris a glass of wine and gestured to the chairs in front of the fire.

"Your face remains altered," he said with a frown.

Hawke lifted a hand to her cheek. "It must be the makeup," said Hawke. "Isabela's handiwork."

"Which explains that particular shade of red on your lips," Fenris said, still frowning.

"You don't like it?" she teased.

"It is unnecessary," Fenris said bluntly. "Your lips…" he began, and then seemed to think better of what he was about to say.

Hawke let it pass. "That's the purpose of the disguise, Fenris. To change how I look."

He'd continued to stare at her intently, but now shook his head as if to clear it. "Perhaps you will explain why this disguise is necessary?"

So she outline Aveline's plan to him.

Fenris reacted poorly. "This plan is too dangerous," he said, his voice agitated. "How am I… how are we to protect you?"

His slip made Hawke smile. "I'll have a company of city guards with me, though not in their uniforms. Aveline has procured mercenary armor for them." Hawke explained. "I'll be fine."

Fenris stood. "You will _not_ be fine," he said vehemently. "It is too great a risk."

"Fenris," she soothed, "I obviously can't be seen with any of my usual companions. That would give the whole thing away."

His face appeared both angry and frightened. "Why you would agree to this…"

"You know me, I stick my neck out with the least little bit of prompting," she joked. She watched as he pace the floor in front of the fire.

"Yes, you do," he growled, stopping to peer down at her. "It is disturbing."

"I promise to be the soul of discretion," she said, reaching a hand out to him.

He took it and pulled her to her feet. "When is this debacle scheduled to happen?" he asked.

"Tomorrow night," she replied and stepped in closer to him.

"What must I say to change your mind?" His face was very close to hers.

Hawke shook her head. Suddenly she had difficulty finding words, distracted as she was by the intensity of his gaze, the nearness of his mouth to hers. She felt as if she were about to either explode or melt into a puddle at his feet. She had reached her breaking point long ago, and it was only her love for this maddening elf that held her in check at all. All she wanted was to give into this, to him, to herself…

Fenris brought his thumb to her lower lip, rubbing at the offending color there. Without thought, she pulled his thumb into her mouth, attempting to satisfy the hunger that raged inside of her.

"Hawke," his voice sent shivers up her spine, and she instinctively reached for him to steady herself. Fenris pulled his thumb from her mouth and replaced it with his lips, his long fingers reaching from her jaw to the nape of her neck as he deepened the kiss. On and on it went, her hands traveling up his back, his traveling down her shoulders, traveling down to… when his fingers traced down the curve of her breast, this time with only the silky material of the tunic between them, Hawke moaned into his mouth. It seemed to inflame him even further, and just as his fingers took her full weight into his hand…

A door slammed.

They both froze, though they did not immediately pull apart. Fenris looked down at his hand and slowly feathered his fingers down her ribs to her hip, before allowing it to fall back to his side. Hawke reached up and rubbed the traces of lipstick from his mouth, surprised that she had the presence of mind to do so.

"Mari?" called her mother's voice from the main hall.

By the time Leandra entered the library, they were both seated in their respective chairs, glasses of wine in their hands, though Mari doubted by the sharp look her mother gave her, that they were fooling anyone – least of all themselves.


	15. Chapter 14

"I need to ask a favor of you," Fenris said to Isabela.

It was the following afternoon, and he had come to the Hanged Man and reassuringly found Isabela in her usual spot, leaning against the bar.

"Ooo, it's about time," said Isabela as she eyed him speculatively.

"Not that manner of favor," said Fenris. "This is serious."

"So was I," Isabela said with a long-suffering sigh.

"Will you help me?" asked Fenris, impatiently. Getting a straight answer from Isabela was like trying to pull the horns off a Qunari with your bare hands.

"That depends," purred Isabela. "What's the favor?"

"Tonight Hawke is…" he began.

"Shhh," Isabela hushed him, and looked around the bar. "Not here."

She led the way up to Varric's room. "I know what Hawke is doing tonight. What about it?"

"I want you to follow her," he said. "Please," he added.

"Stealthy little old me, follow Hawke on her dangerous mission for the City Guard?" Isabela asked, and somehow she made it sound provocative. "Already on it, darlin'."

"You… had already planned to do so?" he asked, and relief permeated his entire demeanor.

"Of course," Isabela said with a smile.

"Does Hawke know you will do this?" Sometimes he doubted Hawke's friendship with the admitted pirate, but right now he was glad she had someone like Isabela watching out for her.

"Of course _not_," said Isabela. "You know Hawke, she'd throw a fit."

"Do you know the route she will take?" he asked.

"From the Dwarven Merchant's Guild in Hightown, down to the docks," said Isabela. "Why?"

Fenris thought for a moment. "I will position myself in that alcove where that mercenary Meeran sometimes stands. If there is trouble, you will come for me."

"Will I?" Isabela asked.

"Yes," Fenris growled.

"Well, since you put it that way, all right." She winked at him. Her eyes suddenly grew wide and she continued, "You know, that's really a good idea."

"Of course it is," he said.

"But not just you. We should position Varric and Merrill and Anders – hide them around town, too."

Fenris frowned. He did not like the idea of involving the mages, but if it kept Hawke safe… He nodded. "You will arrange this."

"Well, well, well. Look at you, getting all bossy and giving orders," Isabela said. "Very sexy."

* * *

The attack came just as her company began to descend the steep steps to the docks around the corner from Uncle Gamlen's house. There were Coterie and Carta (what were they doing working together?) and several other uniforms she did not recognize. The fight was going badly. Five of the nine disguised city guards were already down. She noticed that one of the guardsman – Donnic? – was valiantly holding back a determined group of Carta dwarves. The others were being driven back, and several dwarves were gathering around the crate of lyrium, ready to make off with it.

Hawke used her fancy boots to move to the crate, but just as she appeared next to it she took a knife in her thigh, which caused her to stumble. She automatically reached for a potion while spinning around to put herself out of reach of her attacker. That's when she heard him, a loud roar followed by a burst of lyrium-blue light. _Andraste's ass, how did Fenris get here?_ But she didn't have time to be angry or happy, because the fight was thick upon her.

Even in this clumsier armor, having Fenris on the scene immediately improved the situation. They fell into their well-practiced battle routine, and Carta and Coterie both began to fall. Suddenly fireballs began to explode all around her, and she saw Anders at the top of the steps, his staff lifted high into the air. Behind him stood Varric, Bianca in his arms. Hawke's favorite dwarf sent a bolt through the neck of a swordsman who was attacking her. Next thing she knew, Isabela's voice was at her ear, "Hey there, sweet thing," she murmured before disappearing in a cloud of smoke. Apparently her companions had mutinied.

Aveline arrived not long after with a larger company of guards, and they began to round up the injured attackers. They were plied with healing potions before she had them slapped in iron. The Guard Captain arrested nearly a dozen, all told.

"Did I miss it?" Merrill asked as she ran partway down the steps. "I'm sorry, I got lost down at the docks." She hung her head in shame.

Aveline was organizing her guardsmen; one group to return the crate of lyrium to the Gallows, the other corralled the prisoners they would take to the dungeons.

"What are you all doing here?" asked Hawke, unsure whether she wanted to laugh or hug them.

The Guard Captain joined them. "Yes, what _are_ you all doing here?" repeated Aveline very grumpily.

"Blame Fenris," said Isabela with a throaty little laugh, and she sauntered over to where they had gathered. "It was all his idea."

Fenris stood off to the side, arms folded over his chest, looking nearly as grumpy as Aveline.

"You're responsible?" Aveline accused. "You could have ruined this whole set-up."

Fenris glowered like a thundercloud, then stomped up to Aveline. "You could have gotten Hawke killed." Oh, he was in a nasty mood. Perhaps it was the adrenaline from the fight, but Hawke nearly giggled. Nearly.

"The guard had things under control." Aveline stood her ground, toe to toe with Fenris.

"No, you did not!" Fenris growled though clenched teeth.

Hawke thought it was time to intercede. "He's right Aveline. It was going badly until Fenris showed up." She looked around at her friends. "And the rest of the posse," she added and smiled at them.

"I…" Aveline began, and then said, "I have to get back to the barracks." She stomped of clankily.

"Anyone else need a drink?" asked Varric.

"Maker, yes," Hawke agreed. She pulled the wig off her head and tossed it to Isabela. "Here, have fun with this."

Isabela's laughter rang through the now empty streets.

* * *

Hawke was most definitely drunk. Fenris had decided to limit his own intake when he'd realized how quickly she was pulling down the pints. Someone would need to take care of her later. He didn't even question that _someone_ would be him.

Right now he was watching Hawke, Isabela and Anders singing Ferelden drinking songs, which was bad enough - but all three of them were wearing wigs. He didn't like to admit it, but the blond wig Hawke wore flattered her heart-shaped face. Isabela, however, looked ridiculous in those long, red curls, and the short, black wig Anders had perched atop his head looked like a dead nug. Their arms were draped around each other shoulders, and they were swaying side to side. He was happy that this time they were in Varric's rooms instead of in the common room, and that so far no one had climbed on the table. That was about as far as his happiness went. He watched as Ander's hand, which was dangling over Hawke's shoulder, kept straying dangerously near to her breast. He watched that very carefully. After last night, he was feeling possessive about that breast.

As he watched, Hawke's gaze settled on him and she immediately stopped singing, pulled away from Anders and began a very crooked walk toward him. She, of course, stumbled just before reaching him, but he was ready, and his hands gripped her waist, which kept her from tumbling to the floor. She raised her arms and dropped them carelessly over his shoulders, smiled and then rubbed the tip of his nose with hers.

"Why is your face all scrunched up like that?" she asked, a noticeable slur to her words.

He carefully arranged his features into a polite mask.

"No, no!" she said and brought her fingers to one corner of his mouth and attempted to push it up into a smile.

Which did made him smile, so she got what she wanted. "That's better," she breathed. Her hand lingered on his cheek, tracing some unknown pattern.

"You're always saving me," she said after a few minutes. "Rushing in and killing all the bad guys." She brushed at the lock of hair that fell over his eyes. "What would I do without you?"

Her words made the beat of his heart kick up a notch. He was suddenly very unhappy they were in a room full of people. But he said, "I recall several occasions where you have done the same for me."

She sighed. "Yes, but never so dra…drama…" She looked puzzled for a moment before saying. "You are so good at dramatic entrances." She smiled, happy with herself.

He chuckled. "You think so?"

"Oh, I know so," she said and her wandering hand brushed over his lips. Her expression suddenly became determined. "Some day I will save you drama…"

"Dramatically?" he prompted.

"Yes, I'll do that," she said with an emphatic nod. The abrupt movement must have made her dizzy because her hand moved to her own head and she moaned softly. "Did I drink too much?" she asked him.

"That remains to be seen," he said.

"I'm not feeling very well," she admitted.

"Perhaps some fresh air?" he asked.

"That sounds nice," she said and leaned against him.

He waited, but when she made no move to begin walking of her own accord, he put one arm under her knees and lifted her into his arms.

As he carried her down the stairs he heard Anders say. "He's always manhandling her."

"Get over it, Blondie," replied Varric. "She loves it."

* * *

Once they were outside, he attempted to set her back on her feet. He didn't know if it was her rogue training, but Hawke had the most insidious way of entangling herself around him even more whenever he attempted to disengage her. This time was no different.

"You are not that drunk," he told her.

She giggled. "No I'm not. I'm just very, very clever."

"I can not argue that." She was still in his arms, wasn't she? "Was the moaning real?" he asked.

Hawke grinned at him. "Nuh uh, it was all my nefarious plot to get you outside."

"Is there more to this plot?" he asked.

"There could be," she said suggestively. "Or you could remain a gentleman and walk me home." Hawke sighed dramatically.

"That would require you standing on your own feet," he said, avoiding the first part of her answer.

"I don't think so, messere," she said and she kissed him.

After a few minutes he forced himself to pull away. "Hawke, this is a public street." That's when he noticed how one of his hands was cupping her bottom, while the other had inched closer to that favorite breast. Apparently his hands were no longer attached to his brain. She allowed it when he set her on her feet.

"We could go somewhere more private." Unlike the last time, her voice was not suggestive, if anything there was an underlying note of pleading in it. It was that hint of desperation that finally allowed him to understand how different this was for her than what he experienced. For him, yes it was a hunger, a wanting, but his past was like a wall between them. It was not very difficult for him to deny himself what he wanted – it was all he had ever known until he met her. Each touch, each kiss, each caress was so much more than he had ever expected… But for Hawke – dynamic, vivacious, open and giving Hawke - there was no past creating a wall of denial between them. There was only the natural expression of who she was. There was nothing to hold back, nothing to hide away, for fear it would be used against her.

And there was something else that followed upon the heels of that realization. He was suddenly, undeniably sure that Hawke knew just what stood between them. For three years she had come to him with patience, with kindness and with her heart open. Always aware, never judging him, and never asking for anything in return. It was possible that Hawke understood him better than he understood himself.

She stood before him but there was no pleading, no recrimination in her expression. There was only the same way she always looked at him, and only him. In fact, he had never seen that expression on anyone but Hawke, and he could not understand it, even though it was his favorite thing about her. He craved that look in her eyes as much as he did her taste, or the silken touch of her skin.

When he finally spoke, his voice was gentle. "I have before me the greatest treasure in all of Thedas, and the dragon that guards it still defeats me." He cupped her jaw and ran his thumb across her lips.

Fenris did not know what he reaction he'd expected from his words, but the slow, beautiful smile that spread across her face and lit up her eyes surprised him.

"But you see the dragon?" she asked.

He understood her. "Yes," he said, "I see the dragon."

She stepped back into his arms and leaned in to speak softly in his ear. "Slay that dragon, Fenris. I don't care how long it takes, but slay it. For both of us."

* * *

Later, curled up in her bed, on the edge of sleep, his words played through her mind. _The greatest treasure in all of Thedas_. She relived the long, lingering kiss outside her door after he had walked her home. She smiled and hugged her pillow more tightly. For the first time since she'd realized the depth of her feelings for him, she felt a spark of hope burning in her chest. _No matter what_, she'd told Varric that day on the docks. Her newly found hope joined with that conviction, and the strength of her resolve surged in her breast.

She held the small, teardrop moonstone that Fenris had given her the night of her Name Day up into the rays of moonlight that shone in through the high window. As she watched, a rainbow of colors danced along its surface. She fell asleep every night with the gem cradled in her palm, and each morning it was still there, each morning it was a symbol of possibility, of potential, and now it was a symbol of hope. She sighed and brought the gem to her chest, to her heart and fell gently into sleep.

* * *

"Good morning, Mari," Leandra said as Hawke joined her at the breakfast table.

Hawke kissed her mother's cheek before she sat down. "Good morning," she said.

The clink of silverware on plates was the only sound in the room for long moments. Finally Leandra said, "Mari, I've been wanting to talk to you about something."

Hawke looked up questioningly. "What is it, Mother? Is something wrong?"

Leandra set down her fork. "I wouldn't say wrong," replied Leandra, "but I am concerned."

Hawke took a long, slow breath and promised herself that she would not allow her mother to agitate her. "What concerns you?" She tried to put a pleasant smile on her face.

"That elf, Fenris is his name?" Leandra asked.

Hawke's heart did a nosedive. _Maker, why now_? "Yes, you've met him several times," Mari said placidly. "You know his name."

Leandra nodded. "He was very kind after that horrible Magistrate kidnapped you."

"He saved my life, Mother."

"And I am grateful for that," Leandra said. She hesitated before adding, "But I have noticed," she paused again. "You seem attached to him." She laid her hand over Hawke's resting on the table. "Are you sure that's wise?"

Hawke took another long, slow breath and she counted. She was at fifteen before she felt she could properly answer. "You married a Ferelden apostate, Mother," she said as calmly as she could manage. "The heart doesn't care about being wise."

"I do understand, Mari, but I worry. My choices made my life very difficult."

"You regret marrying Father?" Hawke asked, astonished.

"No! I could never regret that," Leandra shook her head and tears filled her eyes. "I only want you to be happy. To have a good life."

Hawke folded her mother's hand in hers. "I am happy, Mother. I do have a good life."

"Your life is dangerous, Mari and we aren't running from the blight anymore. Don't you think about marriage? Children? Having your own family?" Leandra looked at her with pleading eyes that brimmed with tears.

"It's been a long time since those things mattered to me," Hawke said, her voice sad. "Perhaps they will matter again one day. I don't know." She held her mother's gaze. "There is _one_ thing that matters, no matter how I choose to live my life, and that thing is love." Hawke paused and squeezed her mother's hand. "Would you have me deny love, Mother?"

"You love him?" she asked, but the answer was clear in Hawke's eyes. "You love him," she stated.

"What would you do?" Hawke asked.

Leandra closed her eyes and whispered, "No matter what."

"What did you say?" Hawke asked. Could her mother really have said what she thought she did?

"Your father used to say that to me," she replied. "When two people love each other, they stand by each other _no matter what_."

Why did that not surprise her?

Leandra continued, "You are so much like him. You even look like him. He was so beautiful." Her voice broke on the last word. "I still miss him."

Hawke rose and took put her arms around her mother. "I promise you, Mother, he's still with us. He hasn't left."

"Perhaps he's still with you, Mari, but my heart feels so empty."

Hawke thought it was time to lighten the mood. "Then perhaps you're the one who should find a proper suitor for yourself."

"At my age?" Leandra laughed, but Hawke could tell she was pleased with the thought.

"You know you're still beautiful." Hawke kissed the top of her mother's head. "Will you be alright? I have to meet Aveline this morning."

"You go on," Leandra said. "And be careful!"

* * *

"Hawke, you got my message," said Aveline. The Guard Captain was leaning against the edge of her desk, arms folded across her chest.

"You can thank Bodahn," said Hawke. "I never could keep that mess on my desk straight until he came along."

"I imagine it's handy having a manservant," Aveline said, smiling.

"Oh yes," replied Hawke, "and despite the collateral damage, Sandal's great to have around, too. He's enchanted nearly everything in the house." Hawke laughed. "He even enchanted the bathtub to keep the water warm!"

"He's a sweet boy," said Aveline. She pushed away from the desk and closed her office door. "So, I asked you here to talk about our Undercity problem."

"I figured as much," said Hawke. "What did you learn from the prisoners?"

"Have you ever heard of the Sabrathan?" asked Aveline?

"No, what's a Sabrathan?"

"I didn't know either, so I went through the old records," Aveline replied. "Before the Coterie, they were the largest criminal group in the city. They disbanded about twenty years ago. The records aren't clear, but it looks like they were betrayed from within."

"And this has what to do with the Coterie and the Carta working together?" Hawke asked.

"Apparently some old remnant of this Sabrathan was attempting to reassert itself."

"Was?" asked Hawke. "You mean they aren't doing that anymore?"

"It's hard to say," Aveline said with a sigh. "Most of the prisoners we questioned were more afraid of you than of this Sabrathan. I don't know." She shook her head. "Whoever these people are, the question is can they organize?"

"Afraid of me?" Hawke laughed. "I know I'm no easy mark, but I couldn't stand up to the lot of them at once."

"I think you underestimate your reputation, Hawke," Aveline said seriously. "In Kirkwall there are two main centers of power – the office of the Viscount, which controls the City Guard, and the Templars who control the Gallows, under the auspices of the Chantry. You are fast becoming the third center of power."

"So you don't think this Sabrathan-whatever is a threat, but I am?" Hawke shook her head in disbelief.

"I'm not telling you this to inflate your ego, Hawke," Aveline said sternly. "I'm telling you because I'm your friend. The kind of attention you're attracting, well, you should be aware of it, that's all."

"Excuse me if I'm having trouble digesting this," Hawke said. "But it was never my intention to make a power-grab in Kirkwall."

Aveline looked at Hawke with sad eyes. "I know that, which is why I felt this warning was necessary. You're like the center of a hurricane and you don't even realize it." Aveline put a hand on Hawke's shoulder. "I'm here for you, you know that."

Hawke nodded and spoke past the lump forming in her throat. "Thank you, Aveline."

* * *

Summer gave way to autumn and the third anniversary of Hawke's return from the Deep Roads was fast approaching. Varric was planning some sort of party to celebrate, but Hawke's mind was on other things.

Things like the increased pressure from her mother to take her rightful place among Kirkwall's noble elite. She had stopped talking about suitors, but Leandra had gone so far as to have a dressmaker come to the estate. Hawke now owned a formal gown whether she liked it or not. She also owned a pair of matching slippers, which to her mind hardly qualified as adequate footwear.

Other things included the increased attacks on Hawke and her companions by the Undercity's worst thugs. Aveline had been right, it seemed like being the one to take down Hawke was the new standard for seizing power. The attempts had all been unsuccessful, of course, but it had increased the danger in her life to an alarming degree.

There was also the problem with the Qunari. So far there had been no sign that they ever intended to leave Kirkwall, even though they could have built several ships in the last three years. Tension among the faithful of the Chantry and the Qunari _heretics_ were increasing every day. Hawke was certain Sister Petrice had her finger in that pie.

Among the better things on her mind was Isabela's newfound ability to keep a secret. No word had ever gotten back to Hawke about her less than illustrious past, and even though Isabela would never be a paragon of trustworthiness, Hawke found herself less guarded around the former pirate captain. Along with Merrill, they'd formed a sort of sisterhood that, although it would never replace Bethany in her life, went a long way to soothing the pain of her absence.

And then there was Fenris, who was wonderful and maddening, and most of all, frustrating. She smiled. She was on her way to see him now. It had been easy to ignore the unopened letter from the office of the Viscount and instead go herb hunting out on the coast. Hawke had been cooped up in Kirkwall for far too long and craved the smell of the sea and the warmth of the sun, unimpeded by buildings and walls. She also craved the company of a certain elf.

Fenris was cleaning his armor when she entered the room. He was also cursing.

"_Venhedis Fasta Vaas_."

"Armor giving you trouble?" Hawke asked, coming up behind him.

"It is difficult to get the dried blood out of these crevices," he said, obviously frustrated.

"Hmm," Hawke murmured, and leaned forward so that her breath tickled the back of his neck. "Perhaps you'd like a distraction."

He turned his head, bringing his face close to hers. "What did you have in mind?" he growled.

Hawke smiled. "I was thinking of a trip out to the coast, but if you have other ideas…" She ran her hands down the length of his unarmored arms, appreciating the sinewy strength of them.

Fenris turned to face her. "You never fail to put many other ideas into my mind." He planted a soft kiss on her lips. "But if you intend to go to the coast today, I will go with you."

She looked up at him thoughtfully, and pulled her bottom lip between her teeth before saying, "I may need some incentive. It's a very long walk."

"It seems that you always come looking for… incentives." His smile belied any sting in his words.

"It's not my fault that you hoard all the motivating energy to yourself, and I am reduced to a poor beggar at your door," she teased.

His eyes lost their look of playfulness as he said, "If I could, I would give you so much more."

Hawke's smile was bewitching. "Stop talking and get to the motivation part."

The kiss began rather playfully, with Hawke teasing him – her lips lifted from his mouth to travel across his cheek, as her hands tangled in his hair. He growled and reclaimed her mouth with purpose, and pulled her closer to keep her still, while his arms wrapped around her like a vise. Perhaps it was because Fenris was without the pointy bits of his armor, or perhaps it was because Hawke really needed motivating more than usual, but they ended up pressed up against the length of each other. _Really_ pressed up against each other and for the first time Hawke literally felt just how much Fenris wanted her. _Oh Maker_. She felt suddenly boneless, made of jelly and melting in the heat of a hot summer sun.

She cried out when he lifted his mouth from hers, took her gently by the arms and set her away from him. She stumbled without his support, so he helped her into a chair. As soon as she was sitting, he took several steps away and turned his back to her.

Hawke sat in the chair, her whole body vibrating, and her blood rushed through her veins with such force that her heart felt as if it might erupt from her chest. She was incapable of thought or speech, and could only watch as Fenris turned back to face her, his eyes dark with passion, his body taut with unreleased power.

She knew they had reached a place where there was no going back. If he touched her again she would combust in his arms. She knew this like she knew her own name. Yet she also knew the dragon inside of him. The dragon whose bones were made of unyielding hatred, whose blood was made of the ichor of cruelty, whose talons were the sharp pain of torture and whose scales comprised the chains of bondage. Only Fenris could slay it. It was inside of him and no one else could do it for him, not even her. Not even her love was a strong enough blade to pierce the beast's heart.

Hawke watched as he regained control of himself. Slowly, carefully he reached for his armor. He began to strap it on, and she could have wept. She closed her eyes and struggled to pull herself back together. She had told him she didn't care how long it took. She had told herself she would stay this course, no matter what. She wrapped those things around her heart to keep it from breaking.

They left the mansion without a word spoken between them. They walked through Kirkwall's busy streets with no awareness of their surroundings, each caught in their own internal struggle.

* * *

When they entered Varric's rooms at the Hanged Man, he looked up and said, "Hawke, elf…" in his usual boisterous manner, but after getting a good look at them said, "What's wrong? Did somebody die?"

Hawke shook her head.

"Lose a foot then? Maybe an arm?" Varric tried again.

Hawke felt herself starting to smile. "No," she said.

Varric scratched his head. "I'm stumped. What's the bad news?"

Hawke finally took a deep breath. Varric was so good for her. "The bad news is I'm dragging you out to the coast today."

"Aw Hawke, you know how I feel about dirt," Varric complained.

"We'll bring Merrill along, too," said Hawke. "Maybe she'll frolic for you."

"Hmph, I don't suppose you're giving me a choice, here?" he asked.

"Grab Bianca and let's go, Varric," said Hawke.

* * *

They found Merrill in the Lowtown market winding string into a ball.

"What are you doing, Merrill?" asked Hawke.

"Oh, Hawke," said Merrill. "I've been trying to gather all this twine. The merchants have been complaining."

Varric chuckled.

"We're going herb hunting on the Wounded Coast today, want to come along?" asked Hawke.

"Oh yes, I'd love to." Merrill said and let the partially wound ball of string fall from her hands. "I was getting bored with this, anyway."

"I promised Varric you'd frolic for him," Hawke said as they began walking toward the gates.

"I might, as long as there aren't any trees around to get jealous," replied Merrill seriously.

Merrill was pretty good for her too, thought Hawke.

* * *

Even though Fenris had been quiet, Hawke was relieved that he hadn't made an excuse and backed out of her little excursion. She was looking for a rare blue flower called Harlot's Blush that Solitivus had told her was used in some of his more unique potions.

Merrill had done a fair bit of frolicking, which did distract Varric from complaining about dirt and rocks. Perhaps it was because she'd grown up in the farm country of Ferelden, but Hawke always enjoyed the smells and sights and sounds of being in nature. It was always a soothing balm on her stretched nerves, and today her nerves were stretched to the breaking point. She did, however, almost wish they'd run into some raiders or Tal'Vashoth, because she was still vibrating with unspent energy from her morning with Fenris, and could use the release of battle.

Hawke finally found the flower clinging precariously to a rocky slope near the mouth of a cave. She almost hated to remove it, as it looked so fragile and beautiful against the barren terrain. But remove it she did, roots and all, and carefully wrapped it in a flat piece of leather before placing it in the pouch at her waist.

Not long before the path along the Wounded Coast joined the main road that would take them to Kirkwall, it wound through a hilly area with many high cliffs and dead-end canyons. It was here that Hawke noticed something _off_. Up ahead she saw the glint of sunlight on steal and heard a rustling in the brush. A raider ambush?

"We're in for a fight," she said softly to her companions. "Be ready."

Several armed and armored men stepped into the path to block their way.

They wore Tevinter armor.

"Hunters," Fenris spat.


	16. Chapter 15

**HAWKE**

Twice they took wrong turns coming back from the Holding Caves. Neither Merrill nor Varric were of any help. Merrill wanted to turn down every side path they came across and Varric just shrugged and mumbled about dirt looking all the same to him. Fenris was the one who had gotten them there and he was long gone. It had been a revelation to see him face to face with his past. The rage that he kept so successfully buried most of the time had possessed him. She'd tried to help – he had lashed out. She'd tried to soothe - he had pulled away. Hawke thrust aside her fear for him and concentrated on getting them back to Kirkwall.

She had hoped they would run across that slave girl – what was her name? Maker, she couldn't remember. But there was no sign of her and Hawke could only hope she found her way to the city. Hearing the poor girl beg them not to harm her master, well it was heartbreaking. The whole thing had been heartbreaking. So many dead slaves - dead people - bled dry to fuel that bitch's blood magic. She glanced at Merrill. Would her experience today make her rethink the way she used magic? Hawke sighed. She couldn't think about that now, either. The only thing she was glad about was that Hadriana was dead. Otherwise, she was sick at heart and beginning to understand Varric's aversion to dirt. It did all look the same.

Finally they found the main road and saw Kirkwall looming in the distance. The sun was sinking low toward the horizon, and the quality of light made the city appear ominous to Hawke, as if shades and demons would begin to erupt from its very walls. She shuddered and pushed that line of thinking away, too. No thoughts allowed. Just put one foot in front of the other and meet what comes.

Hawke rejected Varric's offer to buy her a pint, instead heading back up to Hightown. She briefly considered going to Fenris' mansion to check on him, but rejected that, too. She desperately wanted to know he was all right, but knew in her heart that he needed to sort out what had happened. He'd find her when he was ready. She had to trust that, it was all she had right now.

If only Danarius had been there too, they could have obliterated Fenris' life as a slave in one fell swoop. But the magister was still out there, and even if losing his "pet pupil", as Fenris had called Hadriana, was a setback, Hawke was sure he would try again. Her fondest wish was that next time he would show up himself so she could kill him. What he had done to Fenris was unforgivable. There was no redemption possible for the evil bastard and Hawke wanted to be the one to put him in his grave. Maker willing, she'd at least get to help do the deed.

The house felt empty when she walked in the door. No sign of her mother or either of the dwarves. She didn't mind, she certainly didn't feel like polite conversation right now. All that she wanted was to get cleaned up and hit the wine cellar. A nice bottle of red should do the trick.

After a quick bath (warm thanks to Sandal), she rejected her formal 'lounge wear' (a gift from her mother) and threw on her favorite old shirt. Leandra always bristled when Hawke wore it, perhaps because it had belonged to her father and she didn't like the painful reminder. But it was soft and warm and came down to her knees and she felt comforted just by putting it on.

_True Heart, Mari_

_Do not waver_

_Do not doubt yourself_

There were only two things she wanted right now, and they were both impossible. She wanted to talk to her father, and she wanted to hold Fenris in her arms. As she could have neither, there was only one solution – get drunk.

**FENRIS**

From the shadows where he sat, Fenris watched Hawke descend the staircase. He'd let himself in when no one had answered the door. The unlocked door, and Hawke was apparently here alone. _Venhedis_ - she was too careless with herself.

For some reason she was wearing a shapeless man's shirt. On anyone else it would look ridiculous, but on Hawke it looked alluring. It was a temptation to explore the curves beneath it; curves he could plainly see through the thin white cotton of the shirt. She started to open the cellar door, but stopped and turned. "Fenris?" she called.

He stood and she immediately moved toward him. "Fenris," she repeated, and there was a breathless relief in her voice. He was glad, however, when she made no move to touch him. He had things he needed to say to her, and the long length of her bare thighs was enough distraction.

_Out with it then_, he thought. "What happened today with Hadriana – I took out my anger on you… undeservedly. I was not myself… I'm sorry," he told her, but it felt so inadequate, so much less than she deserved.

"I'm just glad you're all right… that you're here." Hawke replied, but still she kept her distance, watching him with those dark eyes of hers.

"I need you to understand… I… Danarius was cruel, but Hadriana was vicious. She…" He hung his head. "I do not wish to poison your ears."

"I'm glad she's dead, Fenris," Hawke said, her lovely face contorted in a rage of its own.

"I wanted to keep my word, but I couldn't," he said hoarsely.

"She wasn't leaving that place alive Fenris," Hawke said. "I know I said it was your choice, but I couldn't have…"

He almost reached for her then, to show her that he understood - that had their positions been reversed, he would have felt the same way. But there was more that he needed to tell her. If he touched her, his control would be lost.

"This hate they planted inside me…" he began.

"You speak of the dragon," Hawke said softly.

"Yes." The pain of it overwhelmed him for a moment, and he watched as Hawke struggled to remain still. He could feel her need to touch him, but he must finish this. "Just when I thought I might win this battle, it rears up more strongly than ever. I do not know… I do not know that I can defeat it."

There. He'd said it. Admitted his weakness - his fear that he would never be free to be hers. He believed she would have him anyway, but how could he live with that? How could he burden her in such a way? It would make her a slave too, just as surely as he was. So he told her, "I do not wish to burden you with this. I should go."

He turned to leave but her hand on his arm stopped him. "Don't leave," Hawke said.

In that one moment, every horrible thing he'd ever endured – all of the suffering and the humiliation - merged with his feelings for Hawke. The fullness of the passion he'd withheld from her these many years burst to life within him, and his control snapped. His lyrium flared and he pushed her against the wall and allowed Hawke to see his true face.

And what did Hawke do? She smiled. She saw what he truly was, and she looked at him with eager anticipation, but also with something else. That way she'd always looked at him that he'd never understood, but always craved. Her response shocked him so fiercely that his markings began to fade, and she leapt forward into his arms and claimed his mouth with her own. She spun him around with those tricky rogue moves of hers, pushed _him_ against the wall and rained kisses over his face. Her hands and lips were everywhere at once, and his own wayward hands cradled her hips and pulled her against him. Even through his greaves the sensation was… overwhelming.

**HAWKE**

Apparently wine was not required, after all. Perhaps Fenris had thought he would frighten her, or warn her off with his words and his loss of control. He didn't seem to understand it was exactly what she'd been waiting for. For so long she'd wanted to see his defenses shatter - to feel the ferocity of his hunger for her – and to know that his passion could no longer be contained. It inflamed her as no kind words or sweet caresses could have done. She loved the fierce warrior that lived inside the beaten slave. Finally, here he was here, no longer hidden, no longer afraid, but gloriously alive and allowing her to see his true self for the first time.

Hawke smiled at him and allowed her love to shine through her eyes, hoping to pierce his now revealed soul. She wanted him to feel everything inside of her, to understand she would gladly give her whole self to him without restraint. She wanted to share with him everything she'd been offering to him for so long.

As the light of his markings faded, she leapt at him, drank from him. She spun them around, kissing his cheeks, his eyes, and the pulse at his throat. She cursed the armor that kept her hands from his skin, and wished she could reach through it and touch him as she wanted. His hands grabbed her hips, and he pulled her to him, against him. She moaned softly at the strength of his desire pressed so firmly against her stomach, and felt a thrill of near panic as she realized just how much elf she was dealing with.

Fenris responded by lifting her into his arms and burying his face in her neck.

"Ow," she aid as a pointy pauldron poked her in the cheek, distracting her from her thoughts.

He lifted her away, holding her as if she were fragile glass that might break in his arms. "I'm sorry…" he said.

"Oh no you don't," said Hawke, and she suddenly felt impish. "No being sorry. I shall allow you to carry me up the stairs in recompense."

He looked down at her, a near smile curving his lips. "Recompense?"

"Oh yes, there is a lot of recompense in store for you tonight," Hawke said, and then added more softly, "if you wish it."

In response, he cradled her more carefully, mindful of the spikes this time, and carried her across the room and up the stairway.

**FENRIS**

He'd been right about the man's shirt, and the curves and swells beneath it were no longer a temptation but instead a tactile reality. A reality he could not get enough of – he was starving and she was a feast. His hand found the weight of her breast and felt the tip harden as he pulled it between his fingers, eliciting a soft cry from Hawke's sweet mouth. His other hand reached under the shirt and cupped the soft swell of her bottom; her skin was like hot silk.

"Hawke," he groaned and pressed his lips to her neck.

He was distracted by the salty-sweet taste of the pulse at her throat. His fingers freely explored what the shapeless shirt had so cleverly hidden, while her tricky rogue fingers were removing his armor. Spiky bits fell to the floor heedlessly.

"Fenris, help me," she said and tugged at the last strap of his breastplate.

She'd seen his markings before, but he hesitated nonetheless. He hid more than his lyrium-laced skin underneath this armor. Without it he was vulnerable. Without it he hardly knew who he was.

Hawke must have noticed his discomfort because suddenly her whole demeanor shifted. Her hands became gentle, and moved away from the hooks and straps of his armor. She gently cradled his face. Her fingers ran lightly over his cheeks, down along his jaw, over his lips. She brought her face within a hair's breath of his and whispered against his mouth, "What do you want, Fenris?"

She had pushed the limits of his control with her soft words and gentle hands. He felt the growl erupt from his chest as his hands gripped the soft folds of her shirt and pulled.

His reward was a completely naked Hawke standing before him.

For a split second, he didn't know where to begin – everything about her was calling to him, calling him to taste, to touch, to…

Hawke decided for him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and her kiss was so fierce, he staggered back a step. Her tongue pushed between his lips and without thinking he pulled it deeply into his mouth and began to suck.

Hawke moaned.

Of its own accord one hand reached for her breasts, and suddenly that's where his mouth wanted to be. He lifted her into the air by the waist and pulled one nipple into his mouth. Her hands gripped his shoulders and her head fell back as she cried out her pleasure. He suckled one turgid peak and then moved to the other, laving it with his tongue, nipping it with his teeth.

He was so overwhelmed, his hands began to tremble, and he lowered her slowly, very slowly until their eyes met and held.

**HAWKE**

They stood, simply staring into each other's eyes. He was driving her mad and he still had on way too many clothes. How to get him in the same state of undress?

Suddenly Fenris was reaching for her again, but she evaded his grasp and taunted him, "No fair Fenris," she said, "you're still dressed, while I…" She crossed her arms over her breasts and looked up at him through lowered lids, "am wearing nothing at all."

For a long moment he did not move, and Hawke began to wonder if perhaps they'd reached an impasse. When he finally moved, he did not take his eyes from hers, and began to slowly unhook his breastplate. There was no expression at all on his face – it was like a Fenris mask. She began to worry that this was bringing up painful memories for him – memories of when he'd had no choice…

When the breastplate dropped to the floor and still he did not move, Hawke did her best to ignore the frantic beating of her heart. As he stood there in only his breaches, he was so beautiful to her, and she was sure he did not know it. The sculpted cords of his arm, the hard plane of his abdomen, were all speaking of his skill and his strength. Her knees felt suddenly weak.

Hawke, however – well, she was in love, and it was love that guided her to him. Instead of bringing her hands to his chest or to the clasp of his breaches to release them, she lifted his hand and brought it first to her lips for a soft kiss, and then to her breast. She would push him no further – instead she would offer herself to him. She was, after all, already his.

**FENRIS**

For a moment, as she had refused his touch, old memories had threatened to intrude. Humiliating memories of being parading nearly naked in front of Danarius and his guests. He pushed those thoughts away and concentrated on Hawke. What she now asked of him was no more than she'd already done for him. Why would he hesitate? Slowly he began to move, to remove his breastplate. He held tightly to the riot of emotions that threatened his composure, and when he stood before her in only his breaches, he did not know what came next. He did not want to reach for her and be rejected.

He was surprised when Hawke took his hand and kissed it, even though he knew he shouldn't have been. It was so like her to sneak past his fears with kindness and her gentle touch. As her lips touched his fingers he felt his lyrium began to warm. She guided his hand to the soft swell of her breast, still damp from his mouth, and his breath caught in his throat. Fenris watched her face as his hand began to move, to caress, to explore. Her lids grew heavy, her lips curved into a smile and the nipple under his thumb grew taut. It seemed as if his other hand lifted of its own accord, and when he showed the same tender ministrations to her both of her breasts, her lips parted on a sigh.

"Fenris," she breathed.

Finally, he answered her question as he allowed his hands to drop and capture hers. He guided her long fingers to the catch of his breaches. "I want you Hawke," he said hoarsely. "Only you."

**HAWKE**

Together they removed the last of his clothing – the last barriers between them. For the first time Hawke felt almost shy as she saw the strength and size of his desire. It had been a very long time since she'd been with a man, and what she was feeling for Fenris was nothing like she'd ever experienced. As soon as she reached for him, instinct took over and she ran her fingers along the length of him. His hands began to move, and swept down her back to grasp her hips and pull her to him. He growled, and he sounded like a wild thing as his mouth clamped down upon hers. Hawke swallowed his growl as she tightened her grip and began to slide her hand up and down the hard length of him. Fenris seized her wrist then, and pulled her hand away. He lifted her unresisting hand to his neck as he continued to devour her mouth, and his hand slipped between her thighs, seeking the hot core of her. His touch set off a chain reaction of sensation through her body and she began to tremble violently. Her wayward fingers returned to him, and she felt answering shudders run through his body.

"Hawke?" Fenris asked as he lifted his mouth and stilled his hand.

"No!" she cried, "Please don't stop Fenris, please…"

He lifted her then and fell with her onto the bed. His mouth reclaimed hers and his fingers resumed their magic. Hawke could feel the tension building in her body and she wondered if a person could die from pure pleasure. Fenris swallowed the scream that left her as the first convulsion hit her, and she reached for him, needing him inside her more than she'd ever needed anything.

**FENRIS**

Hawke was saying, "Fenris please!" just as she had that night so long ago, when she'd slept in his bed, dreaming of him. Everything he'd ever wanted was in his arms. Everything he'd ever hoped for was wrapped around him clinging, moving, crying his name. Her trembling fingers wrapped around his length and she guided him between her parted thighs. And then… and then he pushed into her liquid warmth and he could not stop the low groan that escaped his lips. Hawke lifted her hips for him as he increased the pressure, and he pushed more deeply into her as her body clenched around him. The pleasure was unlike anything he had ever known, and went on and on, inch by inch until finally he was buried fully, deeply inside of her. Neither moved. Time seemed to stop with the exquisite perfection of it. Hawke surrounded him, cradled him, and he no longer knew where he ended and she began. Slowly at first, they began to move together with a lover's rhythm as old as time itself – each anticipating the other in their primal dance of need. His mouth sought hers and he drank from her, his hands were under her hips, and he lifted her to him as they began to move faster. He thrust into her over and over again, no longer holding himself back, no longer in control.

"More, oh more," she moaned into his ear right before she clamped her teeth down on his sensitive lobe.

The harder he pushed into her, the more she tightened around him until he could not stop the torrent of sensation and emotion that overtook him. His body went rigid and convulsed as she screamed her pleasure. Her fingers dug into his back - and then her mouth sought his as they tumbled over the edge together and into a blind ecstasy where nothing existed for him but Hawke.

When he came back to himself, she was wrapped in his arms, her face tilted up to his, her lips curved in a soft smile. For him. Only for him.

"How long before we can do it again?" Hawke asked, her voice raw and smoky from screaming her pleasure. Her eyes, usually so dark, seemed lit from within, like faceted tourmaline sparkling in the soft firelight.

Fenris growled. He nuzzled her neck. "Soon," he said.

Something behind him caught Hawke's attention and she pushed herself up and leaned over him. Her breasts were positioned very conveniently and he took full advantage of that, licking and kissing them until she rolled back onto the bed, a packet of letters in her hand.

He frowned at her. "You moved too quickly," he said.

"Wait," she said and kissed the tip of his nose.

He recognized the packet as the one he had found for her in the sealed box - love letters from Hawke's father to her mother. She removed the wide strip of scarlet silk that bound them and began to wind it around his forearm.

"What's this?" he asked smiling at her efforts.

"It is my favor," she said, a quirky little grin on her face. "It means I prefer you above all others, and your valorous deeds will bring me honor."

"Valorous deeds?" he said laughing, and ran his free hand along the length of her back.

"Yes, your deed are always valorous, and now I will receive all the honor for them. I should be overflowing with honor in a very short time." She finished winding the cloth and tied it in a simple knot.

He pulled her back into his arms and returned his attention to the pulse at her throat, her words ringing through his mind - _It is my favor - I prefer you above all others._

"Is it _soon_ now?" she asked hopefully.

"Yes," he growled.

When Fenris next awoke it was to find Hawke spooned against him, his left arm tucked below the swell of her breasts, the right lying along her hip and thigh. He could tell by the even tempo of her breath and the way she was relaxed so completely against him that she was asleep.

Fenris studied her profile, the soft planes of her face and swell of her lips as he slipped his hand between her thighs and pushed his fingers into her. Hawke's eyes flew open and with a soft chuckle he rolled her over onto her stomach.

"Fenris?" she breathed.

He laved the skin of her throat with his tongue as his fingers dipped in and out, and his thumb teased her hard nub. He brought her to the very brink of orgasm before he replaced his fingers with the hard length of his erection.

Hawke moaned into the pillow.

Together they climbed another peak until they came crashing down again to earth and the sweet oblivion of sleep.

Deep into the night, they came together again and again, playful and teasing, passionately intense, sweetly affectionate. He had not known, he had truly not understood that having her would only make him want her more.

Perhaps it was too much, too soon after too long, but as Fenris lay there replete, Hawke curled up at his side - as he lay there hovering on the verge of sleep, a barrier that had long been closed in his mind suddenly opened. It was a door behind which lay his past life – the life that Danarius had stolen from him. That barrier was violently torn away and he could see everything he had once been – everything he had said and done and felt. People, faces, sounds and words assault his mind in a barrage of images. _Red hair and blue eyes, slim fingers wiping his face with a soft cloth, a young girl running through a deep forest laughing, the lilt of a soft voice singing to him._

It was just like that day in the Hanged Man when for those few brief moments, his ability to _feel_ had returned. The fog had lifted and then descended. Now that door to his memories slammed shut and though he lay there and tried to recall some small piece of what he had seen, it was lost to him once more. And this was worse, oh so much worse than the last time.

The pain of it was beyond bearing. Despite having experienced the most incredible night in his memory, this loss, this briefest glimpse of remembrance - it made him feel physically ill. He looked down at Hawke. She'd fallen asleep, a small smile curving her lips. She looked happy, content… beautiful.

The lyrium crawled along his skin like thousands of ants, biting and burrowing there. He wanted to rip his skin off and throw it into the fire. His heart was pounding against his ribcage. A bitter taste filled his mouth and his throat tightened painfully. The edges of his vision darkened and his fingers trembled uncontrollably.

He slid out of the bed and stood there, fighting the urge to run – the _need_ to run. He kept glancing back at Hawke, trying to anchor himself to her, attempting to calm himself with the sight of her. He rubbed at his arms, scratched at his markings – he wanted them gone. He wanted out of them. They felt like a prison, a cage that he was trapped within.

He began to dress, made difficult by his shaking hands. He had to _move_. If he did not start moving, he might start screaming. This was too much, he couldn't do this. It was as he feared, he was a broken man and could not stand up under the power of what she gave him. He looked down at her again. His head hurt. His _heart_ hurt. He could not take a proper breath.

Hawke stirred just as he was buckling the last strap of his armor with his trembling fingers. He stood by the fire, wanting to run, needing to explain, torn in a thousand different directions and he had no idea what he would say to her, how he would explain this.

She opened her eyes and saw him standing there. She smiled and teased him, "Was it that bad?"

"No it was fine." _Venhedis_ – what was he saying? "It was everything, Hawke, everything I'd ever dreamed."

"What's wrong, Fenris?" She pulled the sheet around her and sat on the edge of the bed, the laughter gone from her eyes, her expression concerned. She reached out a hand to him like she done so many times before, but he did not take it. He saw the confusion in her eyes and hated himself even more.

"It was… for just moment I could recall my past – faces, voices," he tried to explain, "and then it was gone, I could not remember any of it." That didn't begin to explain what had just happened to him. He began to pace. He needed to move, to leave – to run.

Hawke was saying something… something soothing, something kind… but her voice was drowned out by the sudden ringing in his ears, the pounding of his heart thundering in his chest. He had to leave.

He may have said - _I only wanted to make you happy_.

He may have said - _I only wanted us to be happy._

"Forgive me," he said. And he ran.

**HAWKE**

Hawke watched Fenris leave, and for a moment, almost gave into the fear and panic that had so clearly gripped him. She drew in slow steady breaths and focused on her heart.

_No matter what, Mari._

She couldn't lie to herself. She had known, even as she was experiencing the fulfillment of every dream she'd ever had since she'd met Fenris, she had known his past was still there between them. The dragon, though wounded once Hadriana was dead, was still alive, still fighting to keep them apart. Her thoughts turned to the evil Magister in Minrathous, who was even now plotting to have – to own – the man she loved.

She would not allow it.

She dropped the sheet and wandered into the bathing room where she turned the water on to draw a bath, her mind treading carefully over this dangerous ground. Sandal's warming rune started to glow as the water reached it and she allowed herself a small smile.

_True Heart, Mari._

She stepped into the tub and sank into the water. As long as Fenris didn't actually run from Kirkwall, she would not give into the pain, the hurt, the rejection that were hovering around the edges of her heart, pounding to get in. No. That is not what she would choose.

_Do not waver._

She knew from the moment she acknowledged that she loved him that this would be a difficult and dangerous path, and to regret it now, to feel hurt or used or put-upon would be a child's reaction. A reaction not worthy of Malcolm Hawke's daughter.

_Do not doubt yourself._

Hawke rested her head against the rim of the bathtub and allowed herself to relax into the soothing warmth of the water. There were no tears, no heartache - there was only love. She closed her eyes and her night with Fenris began to play through her mind in beautiful, glorious detail. She smiled.

And if Fenris had known what his Hawke had planned for him, well, he may have smiled, too.

* * *

A/N Thank you Fenzev :)


	17. Chapter 16

Hawke stood outside the door, her hand raised to knock. She tensed and let her arm fall to her side before she lifted it again and rapped three times quickly.

"Hawke," Isabela said when she opened the door a few minutes later. "Why is that ugly scarf wrapped around your neck?"

"Can I come in?" Hawke asked, impatiently.

"Ooo, of course, come in," Isabela purred and pushed the door open wide for Hawke to enter. "Finally in the mood for a little fun?" Isabela asked, eyeing Hawke speculatively, and she closed the door behind them with a soft click.

"You never stop, do you?" Hawke asked, but her tone was light now, and she grinned.

"Now where would be the fun in that?" Isabela cooed, as she approached Hawke with her trademark swagger.

"And everything is about fun, is it?" Hawke asked and held up a hand up to stop the pirate's progress.

"Shits and giggles, or I'm not interested," said Isabela, a pouty frown on her face as she viewed Hawke's impeding hand.

"You say that," replied Hawke, "but I know better."

"Well, since your secrets are safe with me, I'm counting on you to return the favor," Isabela replied, and her smile was wicked. "Now explain that hideous scarf… wait, what is that?" Her hand shot out and began tugging at the scarf. "Oh my," she said, "I may melt all over the floor."

Slowly, Hawke unwound the scarf from her neck. Isabela's eyes grew wide and she began to count. "Five? Five! Sweet thing, just what were you up to last night and with whom?"

Hawke tried to control it, but the blush crept up her neck and onto her face. "Twelve, actually. Maybe thirteen, there's one I can't quite see…" she trailed off.

Isabela plopped onto the foot of her bed and whistled.

"I need some help," Hawke said. "The scarf isn't working, it keeps sliding down." Hawke frowned.

"Give me a minute to recover," Isabela said, and then her eyes narrowed as she looked up at Hawke. "Sooooo," she crooned, "Just how talented is our broody elf in bed?"

The mention of elf and bed together renewed the flush in Hawke's cheeks, but it wasn't from embarrassment. "Isabela, I really need your help," Hawke repeated. "Viscount Dumar has requested I come to his office, and I can't go looking like this," she said and lifted her chin in emphasis.

"Have you tried a healing potion?" asked Isabela, but the sexy smirk had not left her face.

"Yes, three," Hawke said making a face. She hated the bitter taste of healing potions. "Didn't do a thing."

"Wow," said Isabela, "that usually at least fades them out a bit."

Hawke shook her head. "Any other suggestions?"

Isabela eyed her speculatively. "Maybe a prettier scarf?" Isabela went to her wardrobe and began throwing random items of clothing onto the bed. "Here, how about this one?" she said, and held up a silky scarf. It was in shades of green with patterns that looked like malachite.

Hawke shrugged. "If you think it will work."

In answer Isabela began to wrap and arrange the scarf around Hawke's neck. When she was finished, she stepped back to view her handiwork. "That is quite a bit better, but there's not much we can do about the one just below your jaw."

Hawke turned and examined her reflection in the mirror. "That does look better," she said. "Perhaps if I keep my chin down?"

"The scarf brings out the green in your eyes," Isabela said with a little wink.

"Thank you, Isabela." Impulsively, Hawke kissed her on the cheek. "Do me another favor?" she asked.

"If you keep it up with the kisses, I'll do anything you want," Isabela replied, and her voice dropped into sultry tones.

Hawke smiled sadly and said, "About Fenris," she began.

Isabela interrupted her, "Ooo, going to share some details?"

"No!" Hawke said emphatically before she continued. "I know it's not your strong suit, but things are… tricky. I need you to…"

"You really can be quite a spoilsport," said Isabela. "All right, I'll keep my mouth shut, for now anyway." She looked at Hawke thoughtfully. "I'm assuming all is not as well as it appears in the romance department."

"That's putting it mildly," said Hawke.

* * *

Hawke descended the step from the Viscount's Keep into Hightown. So the Arishok wanted to see her, and had used the Viscount of Kirkwall as a messenger boy. How interesting.

She glanced at the door to her estate, and briefly considered going in to check on Orana. She was relieved when the young elven girl had finally shown up this morning, albeit looking confused and rather the worse for the wear. She sighed. She'd let Mother take care of her. Leandra obviously needed someone to dote on.

If she were going to see the Arishok, she'd want Fenris with her. Aveline had already agreed to meet her at the docks in an hour and Hawke would also stop by and coerce Varric on her way. She sighed again. There was no avoiding it, she had to go to Fenris' mansion, and her stomach filled with anxiety when she considered if he would even be there or not. _Best to get this over with._ Once she knew if he'd fled Kirkwall, she would at least know how to proceed. But if he were gone, all her resolution would come crashing down, and she did not know _what_ she would do then.

She entered the mansion soon thereafter and the first thing she noticed was the sound of metal sliding on stone. He was here. He hadn't left her, not really. The butterflies in her stomach stopped their fluttering and Hawke actually smiled. Her wayward elf was in for a few surprises.

As she walked up the stairway, the sound of Fenris sharpening his blade ceased. So he had heard her approach. Good. The first thing she noticed when she walked in the room was the strip of scarlet silk still wrapped around his wrist, and her heart leapt. Well, well, well – that spoke volumes. The second thing she noticed was he did not meet her eyes when he mumbled, "Hawke."

"Good morning, Fenris," she said easily. "I hope you're feeling better."

That caused him to look up sharply. After a quick glance at her face, his eyes locked on the scarf around her throat.

"Pretty, isn't it?" she said, her tone still light as she walked over to the table where he worked, and leaned casually against it. "I met with the Viscount this morning," she said as she tugged lightly on the scarf. "Isabela loaned it to me to help cover your… handiwork." She allowed a wicked little grin to curve her lips.

"Yes, um," he replied. "That's… good." There was fear in his eyes, but lurking beneath was something else… Pride? Passion?

Hawke couldn't help herself, she enjoyed throwing him off balance. She knew he was in pain, knew he was overwhelmed and confused – it was all written plainly on his face. But she wasn't going to allow him to slip back into his brooding, angry ways if she could help it. It would do him good to see she had not changed her attitude toward him because of what happened between them.

For now, that was probably enough teasing, and she got straight down to business. "I have to see the Arishok this morning. Apparently he has _requested_ me." Here was the real test. "Will you come?"

"I will," he said without hesitation, and she was relieved to hear some of the usual strength return to his voice. He may have run away from her, but he had not abandoned her. For now, that was enough.

* * *

Fenris was concerned by the way Hawke was coughing. The crazy elf and her poison gas had made all of them somewhat sick at the time, but while he, Varric and Aveline seemed fine now, Hawke's coughing seemed to be getting worse - to the point where he feared she might vomit.

To make matters worse, the Arishok had been blasé about the destruction his poison gas had wrought, but had exploded in a fit of temper when Hawke questioned him about his plans. Fenris didn't think the whole situation was going to end well.

"Maybe you should go see Blondie about that cough, Hawke," Varric said before he left them to return to Lowtown. "It doesn't sound good."

"I'll be fine, Varric," she croaked, but immediately went into another coughing fit.

But Fenris didn't think she would be fine, and for once he thought a trip to the abomination might be in order. "You should listen to Varric," he said.

Hawke's head jerked around and she looked at him with wide eyes. Then she smiled, coughed, tried to smile again and set off on another round of retching. Finally she looked back at him at said hoarsely, "Only if you'll come with me."

Perhaps he should have kept his mouth shut and let the others convince her, but it was too late for that now. She needed healing. He nodded.

Aveline said her farewells, and the party split up.

Following her around today had been equal parts torture and bliss. That she had come to him this morning and asked for his help – he had felt humbled and ashamed at once. Last night, after he'd left her, he had nearly left Kirkwall all together. He'd been at the mansion, gathering his few possessions for a flight into the night, when her voice had seemed to float in the air all around him, whispering, echoing…

_It is my favor… It means I prefer you above all others._

And though he had lost the memories of his past life for a second time, the memories of his night with Hawke were forever etched in his brain. Every time he closed his eyes he was with her, in her bed, reliving each exquisite moment of pleasure and passion.

He had not slept since he'd left her.

But he also had not run. He could not leave her anymore than he could have stayed with her the previous night. His markings continued to send sharp slivers of pain throughout his flesh, but the worst of his panic had receded. Fenris could not, however, risk a repeat performance. He had feared he was losing his mind, and was now caught in a trap of his own making; the only thing he knew to do was remain at her side for as long as she would allow it. After what he'd done, he had not been sure that she would ever come to him again, but this morning she had walked in his door, teasing and tempting him as if he'd never left her.

And then there was that scarf. He remembered the salty sweet taste of her throat, and how he had not been able to sate himself – returning again and again to her skin with teeth and lips and tongue. He remembered the soft encouraging noises she had made, and how her hands had…

It was then Fenris noticed that Hawke was no longer beside him. He swiftly turned and noticed her leaning against the stairwell wall, several yards behind him, and he rushed back to her. In that moment of concern, he did not consider anything else but Hawke, and without thinking he took her arm in his hand and said, "You are not well."

Hawke looked up at him, trying to smile, but there were fine lines of distress around her eyes, and her cheeks were pale. "Maybe not," she admitted, and began to cough again.

Again, he did not think of anything but Hawke, as he lifted her into his arms and carried her the rest of the way to Ander's clinic.

* * *

Once Fenris had lifted her into his arms, Hawke had closed her eyes and surrendered herself to his care. He was right, she _was_ sick. For some reason that poison gas, that gaatlok, had affected her more severely than anyone else.

Perhaps she slipped into unconsciousness for a few minutes, because the next thing she heard was Anders' voice. "Put her here," and she felt herself being lowered to a table. "What happened?" he asked, and she felt a warm hand take her wrist and feel the pulse there.

"She was subjected to Qunari poison gas," Fenris said.

"She was alone?" Anders asked, an underlying accusation in his voice.

"No, I was there, as were Aveline and Varric. The gas has affected Hawke more severely than anyone else," Fenris replied.

Hawke was amazed by the calm reason in his voice. Usually when Fenris spoke to Anders it was all spitting and snarling.

"She has been coughing and retching ever since," Fenris continued. "Can you help her?"

Okay, she heard a little bit of a snarl in that last bit. She opened her eyes and looked up into Anders' concerned face. "Hi," she said, and then began to cough again.

"This scarf around your throat can't be helping," Anders said, and before she could protest he had removed it. "Maker! Is this from the gas?"

Hawke was trying to grab the scarf back from Anders, but he held it out of her reach. His eyes narrowed as he studied her neck. "It looks like someone tried to eat you for dinner, Hawke."

She glanced at Fenris and a flush had climbed up his cheeks, but he remained silent. Then she resumed coughing and retching, and Anders' attention was distracted from her neck, at least for the moment.

"Try to lay still," he said and healing light began to spill from his fingers, and focused on her chest, throat and face.

After a few minutes she felt some relief from his efforts, and took in a lungful of air that didn't make her choke. By all accounts, Anders was an excellent healer, and yet by the time he was finished, he was the one that looked pale and drawn. Hawke, however, was feeling much improved. She sat up and dug a mana potion out of her pack and handed it to him.

"Thank you," he said and quickly drank it.

"Thank you, Anders," Hawke replied. "I feel a lot better."

"Any time, Hawke, you know that," he said and smiled down at her. After a moment his brow furrowed again and he said, "I wonder why the healing didn't affect those marks on your neck?"

"Like I said, thanks so much," Hawke jumped from the table and starting walking toward the doors. "Come to the Hanged Man later, I'll buy you a drink."

Fenris stiffly bowed to a puzzled looking Anders and then followed her out.

Once they were climbing the stairs up to Lowtown she heard Fenris say, "I'm sorry Hawke. I did not know…"

She had looped the scarf around her neck again, but couldn't do the expert job that Isabela had done to hide the love bites. "They don't hurt," she said smiling. "It is odd that potions and healing spells don't effect them, though."

When he didn't reply, she said. "Come on, let's go get a drink, I think we deserve one."

When he nodded her smile grew wider. She nearly reached for his hand but thought perhaps it was a bit too soon for that. _Wait for it Fenris_, she thought, _it's coming._

* * *

Hawke kept glancing surreptitiously at the very handsome man, very handsome _prince_, walking beside her. Who would have ever thought that a Ferelden refuge would be hob-knobbing with royalty? Or his other vocation of Chantry brother? Her life was nearly as strange as the stories Varric told about her.

She was a bit nervous about bringing him to the Hanged Man to meet her friends, but it had to be done. He'd offered to work with her in exchange for helping him with those crazy Harimann people, and he should know just who it was he'd be working with.

He looked over and smiled at her and she was almost surprised that she felt… nothing. It was a very winning smile, and Hawke was sure he'd captured the hearts of many a young lady with it. He was certainly nice to look at, but _she_ was apparently immune to all smiles except for one.

She hoped she would see that one smile at the Hanged Man tonight, as she hadn't seen Fenris for several days. Not since that mess with the dead Qunari delegate. _Mother_ Petrice was a dangerous psycho as far as Hawke was concerned, but somehow the woman managed to keep her place in the Chantry. Hawke sighed. She would never understand bureaucracy. Or religion. Or the Qun. There was apparently a lot she would never understand.

"So why is it that you gather at the Hanged Man?" Sebastian asked her. He said _Hanged Man_ in the same tone someone might say _filthy sewer_.

Hawke shrugged. "There's the ale, and… there's ale and two of my friends live here." She adjusted her scarf more securely around her neck. It had become a nervous habit these days, as Fenris' love-bites still had not faded after nearly two weeks.

Sebastian laughed, and it was a very friendly sort of laugh, which put her more at ease. "So, you like ale?"

"On occasion," she said with a smile. "Here we are," she said and pushed open the door for him.

He immediately took ahold of the door himself, "Ladies first," he said with a little bow.

_How sweet_, she thought. Good thing she wasn't into sweet.

Everyone was gathered at the long table in front of the fireplace. Varric was dealing cards while Anders looked at his hand suspiciously. Isabela was throwing back a shot, one booted foot planted on the bench next to Merrill. Merrill was animatedly explaining something to the pirate, her hands weaving around in the air. Suddenly Isabela burst into raucous laughter. There was no sign of Aveline, but Fenris was at his usual spot, sitting on the end of the bench, looking down into his mug. He suddenly looked up at her, an unreadable expression on his face. _Uh oh,_ she thought. What was that look?

She escorted Sebastian over to them, and said, "Everyone, I'd like you to meet Sebastian Vael." She glanced over at him. "Sebastian, this is… well, everyone."

The table went suddenly quiet, all eyes on Sebastian. Isabela was the first to recover, and she sauntered over to them and looked Sebastian up and down appraisingly. "Where did you find this beautiful hunk of manhood, Hawke?"

"This is Isabela, Sebastian," Hawke said. "She's a pirate," she added, as if that explained her behavior. Perhaps it did. Hawke couldn't seem to help herself, she glanced at Fenris from the corner of her eye. He was very nearly glowering.

"A pleasure to meet you, Isabela," said Sebastian in a very gentlemanlike voice, which made Isabela burst into renewed laughter.

Varric stood then, and extended his hand to Sebastian. "Varric Tethras, at your service," he said.

"Serah Tethras," Sebastian said and took the dwarf's hand.

"No, no, none of that shit," Varric said with a chuckle and resumed his seat. "It's Varric."

Sebastian's eyebrows lifted, but he made no comment.

"What kind of armor is that?" asked Anders.

"It's very shiny," said Merrill.

Sebastian looked as if he did not know who to answer first, so Hawke intervened. "Sebastian is Prince of Starkhaven, Anders," she said. "Sebastian, meet Anders."

The two men nodded at each other.

"And this is Merrill," Hawke added, gesturing to the young elf, whose cheeks had turned very pink.

"A pleasure," said Sebastian, who was looking more confused all the time.

"Very nice to meet you," said Merrill, who spoke quickly in a very low voice.

Hawke then turned to Fenris, who was not looking even a tiny bit friendly at the moment. "This is Fenris, Sebastian. You'll not meet a finer swordsman in all the Free Marches," she said.

Sebastian held out his hand, and Fenris rose to take it. "A pleasure," said Fenris, and at the same time Sebastian said, "High praise, indeed. The pleasure is mine."

As Hawke had hoped, Fenris' glowering decreased into a mild form of grumpiness when he sat back down next to her. "Have a seat, Sebastian," she said gesturing to the bench next to Varric, and then purposefully stood next to Fenris and stared down at him until he moved over, the barest hint of a smile on his face. Hawke felt it, though, all the way to her toes.

"So," she began, "I've promised to help Sebastian with a small problem he has and I'm looking for volunteers." She looked first at Fenris, who nodded. "That's one," she said, smiling.

"I'll tag along," said Isabela with a wink.

"Thanks," said Hawke. She looked around the table.

"Sure, I'll go," said Anders.

"Good," Hawke said. "We'll meet tomorrow morning at the Chanter's Board."

* * *

Fenris was feeling uneasy. Hawke was on her third pint, and past experience had taught him that once she started on number four, all bets were off. His eyes kept straying to the silken scarf at her throat. She'd been tugging at it for the past hour, he supposed from the heat of the room, and several of the marks he'd left on her were very visible to see. Why had they not faded? He remembered quite clearly a previous… mark he'd left on her had faded away within a few days.

When he lifted his eyes from her throat, he found Hawke staring at him, her lips curved in a knowing smile.

"There's thirteen of them, you know," she said, a slight slur to her voice. She tugged down at the scarf again, pulling it lower. "Five are on my neck, but the other eight…"

He interrupted her, "Perhaps you should consider switching to water."

"Nonsense," she said, and took another long pull from her pint. "I was about to tell you where the other ones were…"

"I know where they are," he growled.

Her smile was wicked. "I'm glad you remember. They are all just as vivid as…"

"So how did you become involved with Sebastian?" he nodded in the prince's direction. Sebastian was avidly listening to Varric tell the tale of Hawke and the Rock Wraith.

She huffed. "I am not involved with him. We are going to help each other, that's all."

"I didn't mean…" he began.

"I wouldn't think so," she replied haughtily. "Anyway," she said and leaned toward him. "Why do you think these," she pointed to her throat, "aren't fading?"

"I don't know," he said, and his gaze dropped back down to her throat.

"Do you suppose they are permanent?" Hawke asked seriously.

He hadn't thought of that. What if… what if they were?

"I wouldn't mind," she went on. "I rather like wearing a scarf." She hiccupped. "It keeps my neck warm."

"Hawke…" he wanted to say something, to apologize again or… or kiss her there again, but he cleared his throat and remained silent. She was going to drive him mad.

Varric's voice rose above the din of the bar. "And then Hawke leapt into the air and brought her daggers down…"

Hawke sighed. "He loves that story," she said and hiccupped again.

The amount of hiccupping was beginning to worry him. "Perhaps..." he began.

Hawke gazed at him as if whatever he might tell her would be the most interesting thing she would ever hear.

For a moment he couldn't remember _what_ he was about to say, the expression on her face so captivated him. How could she do this to him? And then he remembered what they had so recently shared and stopped wondering. "Perhaps I should walk you home?" And that brought to mind their many other 'walks home' and what they had included. He was torn between what she might do in front of the entire bar, and what she might do if they were alone together. Yes, she would drive him mad, he was sure. But he had already offered, and Hawke was saying, "Yes, that would be lovely."

And she hiccupped.

So, it was what she might do if they were alone together.

She was standing, saying goodnight to everyone. Hawke whispered something in Isabela's ear that made the other woman laugh out loud, and then she patted Varric on the head, while the dwarf tried to wave her hand away. She was like a hurricane, creating chaos at the table. Sebastian stood then and asked if he could join them, and Fenris breathed a deep sigh of relief. They would not be alone.

Everything went smoothly until they were at Hawke's door. Sebastian continued to walk toward the Chantry after saying goodnight, but Fenris hesitated in order to make sure she was able to work the key in the lock. And of course, Hawke, the rogue – who when sober could pick any lock in Kirkwall – could not make her key work. She looked up at him, appearing to be genuinely confused as to why she could not open the lock. Fenris looked back at Sebastian, who had not yet reached the short tunnel that led into the Chantry Courtyard, and then moved to take the key from Hawke. He bent slightly to fit the key in the lock, and heard the soft snick when it easily turned, but before he could straighten and return the key to her, Hawke bit his ear.

She bit his ear.

He straightened slowly. Had she really done that? She gazed up at him innocently, and softly said, "Thank you, Fenris," before slipping in through the door.

Fenris stood there for a moment, staring blindly at the closed door. He shook his head, tried very hard not to smile, and focused on remembering the fear and panic being with Hawke had unleashed inside of him. He had walked all the way to the Chantry Courtyard before he had once again convinced himself that staying away was the right thing to do.

"Is there something wrong with your ear?" Sebastian asked politely.

Fenris pulled his hand away from his ear and looked down at it. He had not realized his fingers had been resting where she bit him. _She had really done that._

"No, it's fine," Fenris replied. How long had the other man been watching him? Had Sebastian seen Hawke bite him? He couldn't have.

"I'm glad," Sebastian replied. "You looked like you might be in pain."

"No, I am fine," Fenris repeated. He started to turn toward to steps when Sebastian spoke again.

"You've been with Hawke a long time then," he said.

"B-been… with?" Fenris asked. What was Sebastian implying? Did everyone in Kirkwall know what had happened between them?

"You've worked with her for many years," the prince clarified, but looked at Fenris with a curious expression.

"Yes," Fenris said. "For over three years."

"She seems a capable person, and very… vivacious," Sebastian said smiling.

"She is," Fenris said, his voice low and gruff. "Is there something you want to know?" He'd had enough. He was already stretched to the breaking point from his… interactions with Hawke tonight. He didn't need some high and mighty princeling poking into his…

"She seems quite trustworthy as well," Sebastian went on, either blind to, or ignoring Fenris' increased agitation. "I suppose what I'd like to know is, well Hawke has become quite renowned in the city, yet she doesn't quite fit the image of…"

"Of what?" asked Fenris, his patience nearly gone.

"Of somewhat who is influential. Or at least of someone who's goal is to be influential." Sebastian looked sincere; as if he were honestly attempting to reconcile the woman in whose company he had just passed an evening, with _the_ Hawke - the woman who had gained such notoriety in Kirkwall.

Fenris shook his head. "Once you've known her longer, you will understand," was all he knew to say.

"But you understand," Sebastian said.

"Not in a way that I could explain to you," Fenris said. "She is unique. I have never met anyone else like her." And with those words the last of his ire faded.

"I see," said Sebastian.

"You don't," replied Fenris, "but if you are around her long enough, you will." He nodded his head to Sebastian and said, "Good night."

* * *

Okay, she felt a little bit guilty, but not guilty enough to regret what she had done. The look on his face! _Maker_, she'd do it again in a heartbeat. She wanted to laugh out loud and spin around the room, but Leandra was sitting with her needlework, and when Hawke walked in she looked up.

"How was your evening?" her mother asked.

"Very pleasant," replied Hawke. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

Leandra looked at her more closely. "You've been drinking at the Hanged Man," she said.

Hawke giggled and moved quickly to the stairway. "Guilty, Mother," she said, before adding, "Goodnight," with a little wave of her hand.

The sight of her big, empty bed sobered her somewhat. It brought back her night with Fenris in startling clarity. She began to tug off her armor when she noticed a bit of cloth poking out from under the bed, and bent down to pick it up. It was her father's old shirt, ragged and ripped from their night of lovemaking. She brought it to her cheek for a moment and closed her eyes, the memories a visceral thing, causing her heart to race and her body to feel languid, both at once.

Hawke carefully folded the tattered shreds of the shirt as best she could, and laid it carefully in her battered old trunk – the place where she kept her most precious mementos.

The grief and the joy in her heart were wrapped around each other so tightly she could not distinguish between the two. They had become one, forming an emotion so powerful she had no name for it. She finished undressing and crawled into her bed, slipped the moonstone into her palm and wrapped her arms around her pillow.

It was a long time before she fell asleep.

And in another mansion, not far away, the cause of her joy and her grief lay awake, long into the night.


	18. Chapter 17

For the next few weeks, Hawke was kept very busy, but it wasn't paid jobs or Qunari problems. No, all of her friends seem to need her help at once.

First she helped Sebastian with his problem with the Harimanns, which had gone well; if discovering a Desire Demon controlling the whole family was a good thing. She supposed it was, since the demon was now dead.

Aveline, Maker bless her, had fallen in love, and the complicated scenario that ensued still made Hawke laugh whenever she thought about it. Donnic continued to eye Hawke warily whenever they met.

Merrill had dragged her off to Sundermount to gain a special tool from Keeper Marethari in order to fix that crazy mirror she was trying to restore. It was the first time Hawke had ever seen a Varterral, and she hoped it was the last. Just thinking of those creepy long legs and that razor sharp mandible sent shivers down her spine, and not in a good way.

The last two problems had been the most disturbing. She'd helped Anders uncover a nefarious plot by some Templar named Alrik who'd been making mages tranquil for his own sadistic purposes. They'd killed the Templar, but only after Anders had turned all glowing, smoky. Possessed by Justice, he had almost killed an innocent young mage girl who'd been captured by Alrik. That girl could have been Bethany. It made Hawke physically ill to think of it.

And then there was Bartrand, now in a sanatorium somewhere in Tantervale. He'd barricaded himself in his mansion, and tortured and killed the people who worked for him. All because of that idol they'd found in the Deep Roads. Poor Varric, doubly betrayed by his own brother, and now the dangerous idol was missing, sold to some unknown person.

Today Hawke had nothing planned, and was on her way to see Fenris. Was it a good idea? She wasn't sure, but she was missing him, even though she'd only seen him the day before. The book she had for him gave her the perfect excuse and she hastened her pace, eager to see his reaction.

* * *

Fenris was pacing. On the days when Hawke did not come for him, the long hours seemed to stretch endlessly, and there was little to occupy his time. His blade was sharp, his armor immaculate and even this one room in the mansion he had claimed for his own was relatively clean.

_Venhedis_, if he did not find something else to pass the time, he would begin to think of Hawke. She was intruding on his thoughts even now; memories of her danced around the edges of his consciousness – a touch, a laugh, a sigh of pleasure. He wished he had not disposed of those empty wine bottles because he suddenly felt like smashing them against the wall.

When he heard Hawke's soft footfalls on the stairway, he stopped pacing and felt the relief wash over him. Good. Something to do, perhaps even something to kill. A demon would be good, but he would settle for a few shades or even a spider or two.

* * *

Hawke left Fenris' mansion on a mission. It seemed her list of reasons to hate Danarius would never end. Or perhaps in this case it was a list of reasons to hate slavery in general. She practically ran through the Chantry Courtyard on her way home. No, she'd leave this particular reason on Danarius' list, the vile bastard.

_Fenris did not know how to read._ The look on his face when she'd handed him the book by Shartan… no wonder he always entered her library with so much trepidation. He was probably afraid she'd shove a book at him and demand he read passages or something.

When he'd reluctantly agreed that she could teach him, she had wasted no time. When she considered how much of the world was closed off to him…

_How had she not noticed this?_

Soon she was in the library, pulling books from the shelves and shoving them into her satchel - primers and children's picture books for the most part. She then went to her desk for parchment, ink and pens.

"What are you doing, Mari?" asked her mother from the doorway.

Hawke turned to face her mother. "Did you know that slaves are not permitted to read?" she asked, her voice filled with outrage and incredulity.

"So this is about Fenris," her mother replied, but there was a gentle smile on her face.

"Yes," Hawke said, and put the last of the writing supplies in with the books.

"And you're going to fix that," Leandra added.

"Oh yes I am," Hawke said. She kissed her mother's cheek and was out of the door in seconds, leaving a bemused Leandra staring after her.

* * *

Hawke returned and began to unload books from her satchel. Fenris watched her, a wary expression on his face. "We are going to begin now?" he asked.

"Now," replied Hawke. "Sit." And she took him by the forearms and sat him at the table.

For a moment he was disconcerted by her hands on his arms. She seemed to have forgotten that casual touches were a thing of the past between them. Hawke sat down next to him, her thigh pressed against his, and reached for a battered, leather-bound book. Once it was in her hands, her frantic movements slowed and she opened the cover carefully, almost reverently.

"I carried this primer all the way from Ferelden," she said. "Father gave it to me on my fifth birthday."

Fenris looked down at the large block symbols printed on the page. He was wary, yes, but also curious. Could he do this?

Hawke set the book between them and began his lessons.

Several hours later Fenris could read perhaps a dozen words and had memorized the entire alphabet. Hawke was beaming at him, which caused a warm glow to spread throughout his chest.

"At this rate," she said as she closed the primer, "you'll be reading Shartan in a month."

"You think so?" he asked in reply, and did not even try to stop the slow smile that spread across his face.

"She looked at him, her eyes all soft and dreamy. "I know so," she replied in a voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment he sat transfixed, wanting nothing more than to taste her soft lips. His gaze dropped down to her scarfless neck, where the love-bites were finally beginning to fade. He wanted to… He _wanted_.

Hawke seemed to read his face as easily as she could read the books scattered on the table. "Fenris…" she began.

He felt the anxiety begin to replace the warmth in his chest and swallowed hard. He looked away and said, "Thank you, Hawke," but he could not control the hoarseness of his voice.

Hawke rallied, and when she spoke again, her voice was cheerful. "You're very welcome. I'll just leave these with you," she said and gestured to the books and writing supplies. "I'll come by again tomorrow and we'll work on writing."

Fenris could only nod, not trusting what he might say if he opened his mouth.

* * *

Hawke's entire body was humming with energy as she walked through Lowtown on her way to the Hanged Man. She felt as if she'd been hit with one of Merrill's electricity spells, and she knew what that felt like because Merrill's aim could be wildly inaccurate.

She was glad to spend the time with Fenris, and although she could do no less than help him learn to read, it was going to cost her, she knew. Even though he continued to withhold himself from her, she felt his body, his heart, calling out to her through the pain and confusion. It was a wordless calling that spoke to her very soul. She rubbed her arms, and attempted to dispel the pent up energy.

She was going to visit Varric and catch up on news. Or at least that's what she told herself. Some part of her knew that she was really seeking a dose of the dwarf's good humor and wit.

**FROM THE JOURNAL OF VARRIC TETHRAS**

Hawke dropped by today. At first I thought she was going to drag me along on another job, probably involving the Qunari. We've all been sort of waiting for that particular bomb to explode.

Instead she sat down at the table, reached for my pint and took a long drink.

"Help yourself," I told her.

She laughed and said, "Thanks, Varric."

There was something about her, something _off_ I couldn't quite put my finger on. I mean, she sat there to all appearances relaxed and at ease, but I wasn't sure that any minute she wouldn't leap from her chair and start doing cartwheels or something.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked.

I played it off. "You're always easy on the eyes, Hawke," and I grinned at her.

She snorted. Ladylike is not really a word I would use to describe our Hawke. "You're so full of shit," she told me.

"Well, that's true," I replied. "But that doesn't mean I wasn't telling the truth."

Soon my mug was empty and still Hawke hadn't said why she'd come. So, I prodded her a bit. "Looks like your little love-bites are finally fading." I thought that would probably tweak her into talking about whatever it was. My hunch was this was somehow about the broody elf. It usually was, so my hunch didn't have to work very hard.

Hawke's hand drifted up to her neck. "Yes," she said.

"Ever figure out why they… lingered that way?" These terse replies were beginning to frustrate me; they don't make for much of a story. Even if I _had_ sworn on Bianca to keep her secrets, that didn't mean I wasn't writing it all down, in a private way of course.

She slowly shook her head. Great, now she wasn't even using words. I tried again. "So, where have you been all day? Fighting dragons without me?"

She sighed, and finally looked at me candidly. "I was with Fenris. I was… teaching him to read."

That surprised me. The spikey, broody elf was one of the most well spoken people I'd ever met – and he couldn't read?

Hawke must have read the look on my face, because she said, "I was surprised, too. Then I got angry. Then I decided to do something about it."

"That's the usual way you work," I teased, trying to lighten her mood. It did get a small smile out of her. "So why the jumpy, twitchy energy then? Reading is usually relaxing."

"I'm perfectly calm," she lied.

"Liar," I said.

She sighed again. "Yes, all right. I'm twitchy."

"What? It didn't go well? He just sounds really smart but he's really an idiot?" I was having to work way too hard to get her talking. It was exhausting and I wanted another pint.

"It went really well," she said. "He'll be proficient in no time."

"But?"_ Come on, Hawke! Get to the point, already!_ I didn't say that aloud, of course.

She blushed a little and looked down at her hands. "Ever since…"

I suddenly knew where this was going. Hawke had never specifically told me that she and Fenris had, well, done the deed. Yet first there were all those marks on her neck and then suddenly they weren't touching each other at all any more. I admit I'd assumed (as had all of her friends) that they _had_ done it and that something had gone wrong. Very wrong, because Hawke keeping her hands off of Fenris was not something I could have imagined even a few months ago.

"Ever since you slept with him…" I prodded.

Her head jerked up fast, and she looked at me through narrowed eyes. "I've never said…"

"Don't even bother, Hawke. It's been obvious." Really, she thought that the people who cared about her wouldn't notice?

Finally, a genuine Hawke smile. "I'm not exactly known for my subtlety, am I?"

"Nope, you're a straight-shooter if ever I've met one." I told her honestly. It was one of my favorite things about her. "Plus there's that red scarf the elf's been wearing on his wrist lately."

"Yes," she said. "My favor." She glanced around to make sure we were alone. "It was wonderful, Varric. More than wonderful." Her eyes lit up just from thinking about it. "It was wonderful quite a few times before… well, I won't go into the details, but Fenris had a bad experience. He panicked and… he ran."

"He left you?" I thought about it for a minute. Obviously this is why instead of a happy couple living in connubial bliss, we had two people dancing around each other like, well like it had been way back in the beginning. "So what now? Back to square one?"

Hawke laughed without much humor. "I have no idea. But you know the deal, Varric."

I remembered. "No matter what," I said.

"Exactly so," she said.

Hawke looked at me so fondly, I might have started to leak around the eyes if I were the crying sort, which I'm not. Really, no matter what you may have heard, I never cry.

"So now you know why I'm _twitchy_," she said with a grin.

Yes, now I knew. Question was, was there anything I could do about it? Anything to help her? I didn't know, but I was determined to find out.

* * *

It was several weeks before Varric had the time to concoct a plan. The Qunari situation was still simmering at a slow burn, but there had been plenty of other distractions. Hawke had saved that boy Feynriel again, this time by actually going into the fade to rescue him. Who ever heard of a non-mage going into the fade except to dream? Varric hadn't gone himself, but Rivaini had told him all about it – at least up until the point where she'd betrayed Hawke and got zapped out of the Fade and back to the alienage. He'd heard the boy was off to Tevinter. Varric hoped he wouldn't learn any unhealthy habits from the Magisters there.

They'd also had another lead on that serial killer who was stalking Kirkwall, but it had only led them to some weird Orlesian blood mage with a funny name. Another dead-end. Maker, was Aveline pissed at that Templar, Emeric.

When Varric finally had a few days to himself to get creative, he came up with a little scenario he thought quite brilliant, if he did say so himself. So, with a little help from Rivaini, he set it all up.

_This should be good_, he thought.

* * *

Hawke had a bad feeling. They were in one of the seedier sections of Lowtown, down some back alley she'd never been in before. She was there with Fenris, Varric and Isabela looking for a friend of Varric's named Edge (what kind of name was Edge?) who'd gone missing. Supposedly, this was the last place he'd been seen.

Other than a few scattered, drunken vagrants who eyed them suspiciously, the place seemed deserted. Most of the hovels they'd searched had appeared long abandoned, filled with nothing more than mice droppings and old, tattered clothing.

"Just these two left to search," Varric said pointing at two doorways set into the stone wall of the alley. "Rivaini and I will take this one, you two search the other one."

"Good," said Hawke. "Then when we don't find this Edge person in either one, we can get out of here. This place gives me the creeps."

Hawke entered the abandoned dwelling with Fenris close at her heels. The place might have been nice, once upon a time. It was about the same size as Gamlen's place, but the construction was much more solid. The worst thing about it was that it seemed to be built into the wall itself and had no windows. The only light was coming in through the open door behind them. There were three rooms, and when Hawke entered the last one she stopped short. It looked like someone had recently been living here. There were two bedrolls propped up against the wall and several crates of supplies.

She turned around to ask Fenris what he thought, when they were plunged into darkness, followed by a loud thump.

It was pitch black.

"Fenris?" Hawke asked, "Can you glow or something?"

"It is rather difficult when I'm not angry or preparing to kill someone," he said from right behind her.

"Right," said Hawke. "What if I called you a dirty knife-ear, would that help?"

"If you meant it, but I know that you do not," he replied.

Why was he so calm? She was beginning to feel a little bit panicked shut up in here with no light. She wracked her brains attempting to think of something to at least irk him. Wait! Perhaps she did know something. "Did I tell you about the Chevalier at the Hanged Man the other night?"

"No. What Chevalier was that?" he asked in that polite, bored voice of his.

"Zee Chevalier zat peenched mon derriere?" she asked in a very bad Orlesian accent.

He didn't say anything, but a Fenris-shaped outline began to appear in a soft blue glow. She breathed a sigh of relief and went on talking even as she walked toward the crates, which were now faintly illuminated. "Oh yes, he was very forward," she said opening the first crate. "He trapped me against the wall and tried to kiss me."

"Tried?" Fenris asked in a very growly voice.

Hawke was too relieved to find flint, steel and candles in the top of the first crate to be suspicious. She set some of the straw packing on the floor and set to work. "Yes, he had his face right up in mine, and was bringing his lips down…" The sparks caught and produced a tiny flame.

Fenris' glow was becoming very bright indeed. "And?" he growled.

"And I jammed my knee in his crotch and he fell to the floor and cried like a baby," Hawke said as she held up the lit candle with a grin on her face.

Fenris was silent for a moment, and his markings began to fade. "Is that story even true?" he asked.

"Actually, it is," Hawke said, which set him to slightly glowing again. She lit a second candle and added, "They had to drag him out of the bar."

"Did they?" He didn't exactly smile, but it was close.

"Yes," she said, and she did smile as she handed him a candle. "Let's see if we can get out of here."

After they inspected, then pushed and pounded on the door without success, Hawke said, "This door is barred from the outside."

"Who would do that?" Fenris asked.

Hawke returned back to the crates and began to unpack them. "Wine, cheese, bread," she said calling out the items as she set them on top of the other crate. "Blankets, more candles. A book of poetry?" She looked up at Fenris. "We've been set up."

"Set up for what?" he asked.

Hawke sighed. "We're alone, with wine and food and… bedrolls," she said.

Fenris' eyebrows shot up under his white shock of hair, and then his eyes narrowed and he snarled, "Varric."

"And Isabela, I'm sure," Hawke added.

"Is there no way out of here?" Fenris asked, and he lifted his candle to inspect the walls.

Hawke put one of the folded blankets on the floor and sat on it. She didn't answer him. Those two rogues either thought they were helping, or thought it was funny. Maybe both. She only knew that this wasn't fair to Fenris, and it wasn't fair to her. They hadn't seen the wild terror in his eyes that night. This was too soon to even think about… She glanced up at him. Of course she was thinking about it. How could she not?

He turned to her. "Hawke?"

"Let me know if you find a way out," she said flatly. She pulled the little knife Varric had given her from its sheath on her thigh and began working at the cork of the wine bottle. It probably wasn't smart of her to start drinking, but at the moment she was feeling rather reckless.

"Shouldn't we…" Fenris began.

Hawke interrupted him. "If Varric and Isabela put their heads together to set this little trap up for us, well, let's just say we will get out when they decide to let us out." The cork popped and she tossed it into the corner. "In the meantime, we have wine." She took a long drink from the bottle before offering it to him.

* * *

Fenris watched as Hawke finished off the second bottle of wine. While he had been eating some of the cheese and bread along with the wine, she had only been drinking. No matter how many times he offered her food, she declined.

Of course he was concerned, because when drunk Hawke had a way of becoming… amorous. They were trapped here, alone and yet together… what would he do? Other than the occasion hiccup, however, she had been eerily quiet, she sat on the blanket and leaned against the wall, seemingly lost in her own thoughts. He supposed he should be relieved that Hawke wasn't climbing into his lap or biting his ear, or even gazing at him with the deep liquid green of her eyes. But he wasn't relieved; he was filled with disquiet. Hawke wasn't herself, and even though she was sitting only a few feet away, he felt her absence deeply.

Finally he could stand it no longer. "Hawke," he said softly.

Her eyes were closed, her fingers wrapped around the empty bottle of wine. "Don't, Fenris," she said without opening her eyes.

"I… I don't understand," he said.

"I'm trying to pretend you're not here," she said.

"That makes no sense." He began to get frustrated. "I am here."

"It's better if I pretend you're not, now hush." She still had not opened her eyes.

"Hush?" He stood and loomed above her. "What is this about?"

She barely lifted one lid, peeked up at him and said, "This is your last chance, I'm serious."

"Serious about what?" He could feel the lyrium in his flesh beginning to burn as his temper rose.

Hawke sighed. She opened her eyes and attempted to rise. Of course she was clumsy after all the wine she'd drank, and she wobbled slightly. "Other than one tiny nibble on your ear, do you know how long it's been since I've touched you?"

Fenris knew, but he would not say. He continued to look down at her.

"It's been over two months, that's how long," she said and jabbed his breastplate with her finger. "Two very long months, and now I find myself trapped here with you, all alone with wine and bedrolls!" She hiccupped. "Bedrolls! Do you understand?"

"Yes," he drawled. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry? Oh no, no. Too late for sorry." She shook her head vigorously before saying, "I've been trying to pretend you're not here, because if you were here, I would do this…"

He had no chance to make sense of what she had said, because suddenly her small hands cupped his jaw, her lips pressed against his, and her tongue immediately sought entrance into his mouth. He never had possessed the ability to resist her, and he responded to her now in kind. He invited her in, and he drank from her sweetness. How he had survived these months without this, without her? He gripped her arms to hold her steady and for a time he did not think at all.

It was Hawke who pulled away, her fingers came to rest against his lips, her eyes closed and her head was bowed. "We shouldn't," she whispered. "Nothing has changed."

She was right and he knew it. He did not like it, but he knew it. He wanted her more than he wanted to breathe, but until he could offer her everything, he could offer her nothing.

Except, maybe… Fenris set her away from him and removed his pauldrons, then tossed them to the floor. He then sat on the blanket and tugged at her hand. She allowed that and sank down next to him. He leaned his back against the wall and cradled her against his side. She nestled her head on his shoulder and looped her arms around his waste. With one hand he brushed her wispy bangs away from her forehead, the other he settled low on her hip.

Perhaps he could offer her comfort.

* * *

Hawke awoke with a crick in her neck, probably from sleeping on the floor. The first thing she saw when she opened her eyes were the unrolled bedrolls propped against the wall. The second thing she noticed was the wildly flickering candlelight. The third thing she noticed, and she was surprised it wasn't the first thing she noticed, was how she and Fenris had somehow ended up spooned together on the floor. She could feel him behind her, the warmth of his steady, even breaths tickling her neck, one strong thigh tucked between her legs, his arms wrapped around her in a viselike grip. She did not want to move in order to light another candle. This was too delicious.

Hawke really was very angry with Varric and Isabela. Yet in this quiet moment, held in the arms of the man she loved, she couldn't help but feel the tiniest bit of gratitude as well. Fenris stirred, and his lips pressed against her neck, sending shivers down her back and into… well, more private places. She held her breath, wondering if he would awaken, but after that one soft kiss, he resumed his steady breathing and remained still. She allowed herself to enjoy the luxury of being held in his arms, and also allowed a part of her mind to entertain the idea of waking up with him this way every morning. Well, maybe not on a hard floor – a soft bed would be nicer.

She must have drifted back off into sleep, because the next time she woke up it was to Fenris' low growl behind her as his lips and tongue were once again busy at the base of her throat. The evidence of his desire was pressed firmly against her bottom, and she held herself very still, wanting this to go on forever and yet wary of the consequences if it did. His hands began to travel up over her stomach, seeking the swell of her breasts, making her forget the danger and revel in the sensation. She cursed the barrier between his hands and her skin, and could not stop the soft cry that escaped her lips. His mouth and his hands both stilled at once.

He did not, as Hawke had feared, immediately pull away from her, but instead gently turned her to face him. His eyes were alight with passion, but also sad, as he ran his fingertips down her cheek in a gentle caress. "I cannot," he said to her. "As much as I want this, I cannot."

It was a sweet torture, but one she could live with if it meant that the days of never touching each other at all were over. So she gave him her best smile and said, "The fire may burn, but it is the water that heals." She kissed him then, softly, tenderly, keeping her passion in check. It was a kiss filled with affection and comfort, a balm to the fire raging within them both.


	19. Chapter 18

**FROM THE JOURNAL OF VARRIC TETHRAS**

Hawke didn't speak to Isabela or me for a full week after our little plot to arrange some alone time between her and the elf. She couldn't fool me, though – I saw the new love-bite on her neck when the two of them came blinking and cursing out of that Lowtown hovel. Hehe, it was worth the silent treatment just to see that.

It was pure luck that she didn't go on with her cold shoulder routine. Some Merchant's Guild drawf, Yevhen I think his name was, asked her to go back into the Deep Roads to rescue his sons, and she wanted yours truly along with her. It was a mess and there were a shitload of Darkspawn, but we managed to bring two out of three sons back to their father alive, so I'd call it a success, despite the number of golems we had to fight. I hate the blighted Deep Roads, but to get back in Hawke's good graces, it was worth it.

Otherwise, new crops of gangs have popped up around town, and that's kept us pretty busy. Some strange lady pays Hawke good coin to keep the streets clean. I have no idea what her deal is, but hey – coin is coin and my bet is Hawke would be out fighting the bad guys anyway.

The only thing that's gone on in the past month that's worth recording in any detail happened the other night right here, in the Hanged Man. Where else?

I'll set the scene: It was night, the bar was crowded, the ale was flowing and I was seriously winning some major coin from that choirboy, Sebastian. That guy is just plain weird. He's all, _Maker this and Maker that_, but he loves to play Wicked Grace, and he almost always loses. I wonder if Grand Cleric Elthina knows how he spends his nights?

We were all there except the elf. Me, Choirboy and Blondie were playing cards, while Aveline and that guardsman she's all hot over were tucked back at a corner table. The other three girls, Hawke, Isabela and Merrill were at their own table busting their guts over something. My guess is it was something Merrill said, because her cheeks were really pink.

So, my back was to the door, but I had a perfect view of Hawke. With all the loud, drunken laughter, I didn't hear the door open, but when the bar went suddenly quiet I looked up from my cards and saw Hawke's face. Ever heard that expression white as a sheet? It was the first time I'd ever seen someone's face go that white in real life. Hawke was up and moving in a heartbeat, so I turned to get a look at what was going on, and there was the elf, covered in blood. He was still on his feet but swaying dangerously.

Now, if you spend any amount of time in the company of Hawke, you're going to see a lot of blood. And ichor. And even sometimes brains and guts. It just seems to happen around her, I don't know why. But I swear by the stone there was so much blood it was already pooling at his feet, and he'd only been standing there a few seconds. Hawke caught him just as he passed out and she dropped to the floor, her arms tightly around him. She hadn't said a word so far but now she was screaming, "Anders!" Blondie jumped out of his seat and got down on the floor with them, and now Hawke was covered in blood, too. She had her hands all over him, looking for wounds, trying to stop the blood flow.

Blondie's hands erupted in that pretty magic light that heals things, and Hawke stopped screaming but there were tears running down her face. They were cutting a clean path through the blood, and that's some of the weirdest shit I've ever seen. I don't think I'll ever forget how she looked that night.

We were all gathered around at this point, and every time Blondie ran out of steam, someone was shoving a mana potion in his hand. Hawke was bent low over Fenris, and it sounded like she was saying, "Don't you dare leave," in this really stern voice. Like she was ordering him not to die. I don't know, if Hawke ordered me not to die, I'd do my damndest to stay alive, that's for sure.

Finally the elf's eyes started to flutter, and Hawke had her forehead pressed to his, calling his name over and over. Blondie sat back and said, "That's all I can do. I don't know how he isn't dead already… all that blood."

Hawke gripped Blondie's hand and the look in her eyes was nothing but gratitude, and then Rivaini helped Blondie up and into a chair. He was really pale too at that point.

Hawke looked over at Daisy and said, "You saved him, Merrill." Which made no sense to any of us at the time, because Blondie had healed him, not Daisy. Later I found out that Daisy had given Fenris this elf ring that keeps you from giving up the ghost. I've always said that elf is one lucky son of a bitch.

The elf croaked Hawke's name and she started laughing, but it was a creepy kind of laugh, like she had been stretched to her breaking point - not a funny laugh at all. Maybe she realized it, because she stopped laughing and looked down at him all serious and then she was kissing him, but I have to tell you it wasn't sexy. I can't even force myself to exaggerate on that one. But it might have been one of the sweetest things I'd ever seen, despite all the blood. Sebastian and Hawke lifted the elf up and I offered him my bed. I've been wanting new sheets anyway, so no big deal. Rivaini brought in water and towels, but Hawke wouldn't let anyone else touch Fenris but her. I didn't have the heart to point out to her that she had almost as much blood on her as he did.

It turned out that Fenris was jumped by the Carta on his way to play cards with us that night. Somebody told me there were fifteen dead Carta Dwarves found in the Lowtown market. That elf killed fifteen of them all on his own. I guess since they hadn't been able to kill Hawke, killing her fierce warrior elf was the next best thing.

Later that night Choirboy and Hawke helped Fenris back to his mansion. Rumor has it Hawke stayed there with him for the next three days. I wish I could have been a fly on that wall.

**Day One**

Fenris awoke to a cool hand stroking his forehead. For a moment a thrill of fear moved through him, and he was afraid to open his eyes. The last time he had felt such pain was at the hands of Danarius. Yet this was not the sharp agony of lyrium being burned into his flesh, but more akin to some of his former master's other… ministrations. _Call it what it was_, a part of his mind said. _It was torture_. That particular part of his mind, that voice, was the one that had finally broken free and helped him to escape, even when at first it only said _move, run, go_.

It was _her_ lilting voice that dispelled the fear and made it safe to open his eyes.

"Fenris," she said.

It was _her_ touch on his forehead soothing him.

It was Hawke.

She was sitting on the edge of his bed, one hand stroking him, the other holding a healing potion. "Anders said you should drink one of these every few hours," she told him. "Can you sit up?"

He made the effort and she slipped an arm behind his back to support him.

"Down the hatch," she said as she lifted the small bottle to his lips. "That should help with the pain." She disposed of the empty bottle and returned to her perch on the bed, taking his hand in hers. There were lines of exhaustion around her eyes and her face was pale.

"You…" it was difficult to speak. "You need to sleep," he finally said, though his voice sounded cracked and broken. He tugged at her hand.

There was a question in her eyes, and he answered it. "Yes," he said.

Slowly, gently she swung her bare feet up onto the bed. She was wearing a loose shirt and a baggy pair of linen pants. If he'd been feeling better, he might have laughed. Hawke had the strangest taste in clothes. That was when he realized he wore nothing underneath his blanket. Hawke had undressed him? But she wasn't lifting the blanket; she was settling herself beside him on top of it. She was careful not to touch him elsewhere, but did not release his hand. When she laid her head on the pillow, she let out a long sigh and closed her eyes.

She was quiet for so long Fenris thought perhaps she had fallen asleep. He was, however, content to lie next to her, watching the even rise and fall of her breasts and the way the lines in her face began to ease.

It surprised him when she spoke. "You really frightened me." There was another long pause and this time when she spoke, her voice was barely a whisper. "I thought… I thought I would lose you."

He had no answer to that. He knew how close he had come to death. If not for the Elvhen ring he doubted he would have survived the attack, much less been able to make his way to the Hanged Man. Not wanting to cause her pain, he said the only thing he could think of. "I'm sorry."

She opened her eyes and turned her head to face him, and for the first time since he'd awakened, she smiled. "I know you didn't do it on purpose, Fenris." She propped herself up on one elbow and leaned into him, planting a soft kiss on his lips. "But don't do it again."

**Day Two**

Hawke glanced over at Fenris' sleeping form as she unpacked the basket of food Bodahn had recently brought to her. He had slept most of the last twenty-four hours, except when she would wake him for another potion. How ironic that they were now sleeping together without _sleeping_ together. Not that she was complaining – Maker, he'd nearly died. She struggled with the guilt of it. If what Varric had heard on the streets was true, it was her fault he was attacked. More irony – he thought he was a danger to her when it seemed they were equally dangerous to each other.

Fenris stirred and she dropped what she was doing and went to him. He looked somewhat better. Some of the color had returned to his cheeks, and when he opened his eyes to look up at her, they were no longer filled with pain. He did not, however, look completely well, so when he made to rise she put a hand on his chest and gently pushed him back.

"Oh no you don't," she told him emphatically.

"You would keep me trapped here, unclothed in my bed?" The teasing smile he gave her caused her stomach to flutter deliciously, and had her mind imagining all kinds of equally delicious scenarios, so it took her a moment to respond.

"Tempting," she said in a fair imitation of a Fenris growl. "But until Bodahn returns your armor, you have no clothes to put on."

"Why does Bodahn have my armor?" he asked.

"He is… cleaning it," she replied. She didn't tell him Bodahn also had her armor as well. The blood… no she wouldn't think of it.

Thankfully, Fenris let the matter drop. "Is there some reason this room smells like a bakery?" he asked, changing the subject, as if he sensed her discomfort.

"There is." She retrieved several warm sweet rolls from the basket and sat on the edge of his bed. She tore off a bite-sized piece and held it out to him. When he reached for it with his hand, she shook her head and held it up to his mouth.

"There is no need for you to feed me, Hawke," he said, and she couldn't quite read the tone in his voice.

"Allow me this," she said. If it weren't for Merrill and Anders, he would be dead and there would have been nothing she could have done to stop it. At least she could take care of him now.

He looked at her steadily for several minutes before giving a slight nod.

She brought the bit of sweet roll to his lips and he took it into his mouth and chewed slowly. "It is good," he said, after he'd swallowed the morsel.

They repeated the process (several times he bit lightly on her fingers, but his expression remained so innocent Hawke was unsure if he meant to or not) until all the rolls were gone. When she was finished, her fingers were sticky and she brought them to her lips, meaning to lick the sweet residue from them, but Fenris' hand shot out more quickly than she thought him capable, and he did the job himself.

At first Hawke was stunned and sat nearly paralyzed as she watched him slowly suck the sticky sweetness from each of her fingers; she watched her own hand as if it belonged to someone else. Soon, however, the sensations began to overwhelm her and send liquid heat racing up her arms and throughout her body in the most alarming ways. Well, not really alarming, but certainly interesting. Very interesting. She felt herself leaning toward him without consciously meaning to, and once her fingers were clean, he reached up and cupped the back of her head in his hand and pulled her lips down for the same treatment.

It was a long and lingering kiss, and Hawke was seriously considering climbing into the bed with him when Fenris pulled back slightly and said against her lips, "Someone is coming up the stairway."

"Someone's timing is terrible," she whispered ruefully, surprised that she could speak at all. For a moment Fenris' grip tightened before he reluctantly released her. She stood and did her best to appear as if she had not just been kissed senseless.

It was Sebastian coming to check on Fenris. "Well, you are certainly looking much improved," he said.

"I am being well tended," Fenris replied. He glanced at Hawke and the look her gave her did nothing to help her regain her composure.

The prince gave her a slight bow and said, "Well done, milady."

The two of them talked for nearly an hour while Hawke set about preparing the rest of the food. As she worked, she couldn't help but think that the combined taste of sweet rolls and Fenris was perhaps the best taste in all of Thedas.

**DAY THREE**

Fenris opened his eyes the next morning and the first thing he saw was Hawke's face. He smiled. What a perfect antidote to his troubled dreams. He allowed the sight of her to fill his mind as it filled his vision, and he felt his tense muscles relax. He noticed how much better he was feeling, how much the pain had faded. It would be best if he were to get out of this bed today. But not yet. Not while Hawke was still in it.

The temptation to touch her, to pull her into his arms nearly overwhelmed him. If not for the nightmares of Danarius to remind him why he should not, he might have done so. Yesterday, if Sebastian had not arrived, he might have done so. Hawke was a soothing balm to the damage magic had wrought upon his soul, yet he would not, could not risk that level of intimacy again. _No_. If only Danarius were dead, or if he could reclaim his memories permanently, perhaps he could pledge himself to her. He did not truly know.

Yet, they continued to stray dangerously close to the edge of intimacy. As if there were some magnetic force that brought them together and could not be resisted by either of them. His lips curved as he thought, _a force other than Varric and Isabela, that is._

Eyes the deep green of a forest at dusk were suddenly peering back at him. He quelled the urge to reach up and touch her face, but Hawke seemed to not be in a quelling mood, and reached her own hand up and ran her fingers through his hair.

"You're looking well this morning," she said.

He almost did not want to admit to her how well he _was_ feeling, because then there would be no reason for her to stay. Despite the temptations and the danger therein, having her with him felt right. He would not, however, play games with her.

"I feel well," he said, "thanks to you."

Her eyes closed and she said, "No. It is my fault you were injured."

He could not allow her to feel the pain of guilt, and reached up to run his thumb across her cheek. "You are not to blame for the Carta's actions."

Hawke opened her eyes and they were filled with anger and remorse. "They were trying to hurt me through you." She laid her hand over his. "And they nearly succeeded."

"They are dead," he told her.

"But the threat is not," she replied.

"True." He could not disagree, so he asked her, "What shall we do about it?"

Finally, she smiled and something eased in his chest. "An excellent question. I've already got Varric on it."

Fenris needn't have worried. Bodahn returned his armor, which allowed him to finally dress. Once on, he immediately noticed a subtle difference in how he felt wearing it. A thorough inspection revealed the new defensive rune set into his breastplate.

"It appears Sandal has been busy," he said as he showed Hawke the rune.

She looked please. "Enchantment!" she said.

He set about cleaning his sword, which Bodahn had not removed from the mansion. The blade had been wiped, but the hilt and hand guard were crusted in blood so dark it was nearly black.

Hawke did not leave, but instead helped him with the work. Once his sword and both of her daggers were cleaned and sharpened, she suggested they spend the day working on his letters. Even he was surprised at how quickly the strange symbols began to translate into words in his mind.

When dusk came she prepared the last of the food from the basket and opened a bottle of wine for them to share. Dinner was a silent affair, each of them lost in their own thoughts. There were so many things he wanted to say to her, and yet so many things best left unsaid.

After their meal she read to him from Shartan as they sat in front of the fire. When the hour grew late she closed the book and looked up at him, a question in her lovely dark eyes.

And so for one more night they shared his bed and for one more morning Fenris woke up to find her there with him, and it made his heart glad. As he watched her peacefully sleeping, he thought perhaps he was finally beginning to understand love.


	20. Chapter 19

**FROM THE JOURNAL OF VARRIC TETHRAS**

I've always known that the Carta are a bunch of crazy sons of bitches, even for dwarves. Of course personally, I think most dwarves are crazy because they actually like living underground. Me? I prefer sunshine and fresh air.

But this thing with Hawke and the Carta was getting seriously weird. A couple of weeks after the attack on Fenris, some assassins broke into Hawke's estate and tried to kill her. Well, they _were_ assassins and that's what they do, but needless to say the Carta lost three that night.

After that I started getting in touch with some of my contacts, but before I found out anything useful, more Carta assassins broke into the Gallows and tried to kill Sunshine! You can't make this kind of shit up.

Hawke showed up at the Hanged Man ranting and raving, and let me tell you that is a sight to see. I had to lay down some serious coin, but finally I found a trail. So we ended up taking a little trip – to the Vimmark Mountains.

Me, Hawke, Fenris (no surprise there), Bethany (can't believe the Templars allowed that) and of all people, Choirboy, ended up in the bowels of this crumbling Warden fortress face to face with an ancient Magister. Corypheus, he called himself, and that guy was seriously messed up. I mean, looking at his face was painful.

Corypheus is dead now. We had the help of this tainted Warden Commander - Larius I think his name was, and he was nearly as creepy as Corypheus. It was kind of weird, because there at the end, I could swear there was something different about Larius. I can't say just what, and I guess that's the Wardens' problem, not mine. So far all of Hawke's stories end this way – the bad guy dies.

The most bizarre part of this whole tale is that it turned out the Carta were working for the Grey Wardens. It was all mixed up with Hawke's father and maybe blood magic – hey, you know how these things go. Hawke's life is a mystery. Like I said, you can't make this shit up. And if I happen to embellish things now and then…

I don't think Hawke is done with the Carta, though. Sure, she removed the immediate threat, but they tried to murder her elf and her sister. I'm pretty sure she won't let that drop.

What was more interesting to me was what was going on with my fellow travelers. For one thing, Fenris and Hawke? Now when they fight side by side, it's almost like they're one person in two bodies. I've never seen anything like it. The genlocks and the hurlocks were falling like flies, not to mention some of the nastier darkspawn. Fenris hit them from the front, and Hawke would appear out of nowhere from behind and suddenly you've got one massive, giant darkspawn corpse. It's not like they haven't always fought well together, but this shit was almost eerie, especially the way they anticipated each other's every move. Afterward, there was hardly a scratch on either one of them. Oh, and I also caught them behind this pillar once… those two should charge admission.

Now here's a surprise, and more proof that the Hawke family are the best entertainment this side of Orlais. I think that Choirboy has got a little crush on Sunshine. The courtly compliments that were rolling off his tongue! Hehe - it was almost embarrassing. Sunshine seemed to like the attention, though I don't think she knew quite how to react. Hawke found the whole thing very amusing, and deliberately (if you asked me) set them up for it more than once. When we got back to Kirkwall and returned Sunshine to the Gallows, Choirboy bent over her hand and kissed it. Our Lady Sunshine turned the color of a ripe tomato. She is so cute when she blushes.

The whole Hawke family seems to be attracting male attention these days. I got the word from Bodahn that Leandra has a 'suitor." I wonder what Hawke thinks of that?

* * *

"You're so much like your father," Leandra said.

Hawke was having a quiet meal alone with her mother. She had just returned from the Vimmark Mountains the day before, and they had been discussing the disturbing things Hawke had discovered about her father – especially his use of blood magic.

She had not told her mother, however, of how the Wardens had threatened Malcolm with the loss of his beloved Leandra. So what her mother said next rather surprised Hawke.

"I can assure you whatever your father did, his reasons were sound and his motives pure." She smiled in thoughtful remembrance. "Don't allow what you learned from those Wardens to cause you to doubt him or think ill of him, Mari."

As it had many times since, the dream of her father on the bridge surfaced in her mind. "I won't, Mother," Hawke said. "The older I become, the more I understand about difficult choices."

Leandra laughed. "You are still very young, my Mari." She leaned forward and brushed the wisp of bangs from Hawke's forehead, and her smile became sad. "Magic Mari. Do you remember?"

"Yes," Hawke replied. "How could I forget?"

* * *

**FROM THE JOURNAL OF VARRIC TETHRAS**

This is one story I will only tell this once, only here in this book, and as briefly as possible.

Leandra is dead. That serial killer that's been preying on Kirkwall's female population? He took Hawke's mother.

Quentin was his name, and he was insane, a blood mage and a necromancer. Maybe the insane part was obvious, considering the other two.

Even though I was there, I don't know if I could describe what it was like even if I wanted to. And I don't want to.

The image of Hawke holding her mother in her arms, all stitched together… no, I can't.

The last words Leandra said to Hawke were, "You've always made me so proud."

Small comfort. Quentin is dead.

Bad guys, zero – Hawke, all of them.

* * *

Bodahn answered the door and escorted him inside. The dwarf looked as if he'd been crying. He said, "I'm glad you are here Messere Fenris."

Fenris nodded. He didn't know what to say to Bodahn. Didn't know what to say to Hawke.

Of course he'd been with her, had done his best to protect her and helped her kill the blood mage, but now in the aftermath, he felt at a loss. His rage, usually kept so deeply buried, was hovering dangerously near to the surface. More than anything he did not want to add to Hawke's burden by losing control of himself.

He paused a moment outside of her bedroom door and did his best to detach himself from the riot of feelings threatening to break free. He felt ashamed when he finally resorted to an old technique left over from his days as a slave. Very soon he was feeling nothing at all.

* * *

A slight tapping at her door roused Hawke from her stupor. She'd been sitting on the edge of her bed staring at the floor, her mind a blank, her body numb. She knew there was a cataclysm awaiting her, but so far she had felt… nothing.

"Come in," she called, surprised at the normalcy of her own voice.

Fenris approached, already speaking. "I do not know what to say, but I am here."

His bored, polite voice tweaked her nerves, but did not penetrate the wall of stone that seemed to surround her heart. "Just say something. Anything." She felt that small tweak again as she spoke, and a hint of something stronger chipping at the stone.

"T-they say death is only a journey. Does that help?" he replied.

Hawke felt as if they were two polite strangers speaking of the weather. His voice hit her like a landslide of pebbles and sand. There was the barest breach of her numbness, and the subtlest hint of anger escaped the prison of her heart.

She watched as Fenris moved to the bed and sat beside her, words forming on her lips no more meaningful than, _it looks like rain today._

What was she doing? Her mother was dead, murdered in a way more horrific than anything she ever could have imagined. And she would sit here and discuss it with the man she loved; talk about death in some abstract, meaningless way, when the reality was in blood spilled and bones severed and death corrupted.

There was no protection from feeling this anguish. There was nothing short of going insane that would allow her to avoid this new pain - the pain it was now her destiny to bear.

Her father: _Your greatest challenges are yet to come. You must meet them with a true heart._

A true heart. And the truth was bitter and tasted of ashes. It was filled with agony and remorse and death.

So when her eyes met Fenris, she let the words die on her lips. Instead of false platitudes, Hawke gave him the truth. She released her hold and allowed her control to slip. She gave into the pressure building in her chest and the flood forming behind her eyes. She allowed him to see, allowed him to know what the truth of her was, and she spoke no word.

Hawke saw it slice through him, saw the power of what she was feeling wash away the polite mask to reveal her own pain reflected in the agony on his face. She knew, she did not doubt, that if there was anyone who would understand her and meet her in this place of suffering, it was Fenris.

For a moment neither moved, nor spoke, nor hardly drew breath. For a moment they were poised together on the edge of the abyss. The thought passed briefly through Hawke's mind, _what would they choose? Death? Or life?_ And she knew that only in the action would there be the knowing.

Perhaps, in the end, it was both. They came together with such raw force, such unbridled power that it obliterated everything else. The world and everything in it ceased to exist, and there was only the two of them finding their way into the pain and the pleasure that was too strong for either of them to deny. She held nothing back - not her rage, nor her fury nor her anguish. Hawke gave it all to him and he responded in kind. Their joining was a chaotic storm that swept them away and took them to places neither had ever been before. She knew nothing except that she yet lived, and that Fenris was with her.

Hours later, Hawke awoke. Sleeping next to her was Fenris, his back to her, and the lyrium etched there faintly reflected the flickering candlelight. For this one night, she would not care what the morning would bring. She would not concern herself with consequences or significance. She inched over to him and wrapped her arms around his torso, and laid her cheek against his back. Fenris stirred and wrapped his arms around hers. He linked their fingers together and pulled her close against him.

There were no troubled dreams that night. No nightmares or horrors to plague their sleep.

Some times, some places are blessed.

* * *

It was a strange time. It seemed as if death had come to Kirkwall to lie over the city like a cold, comfortless blanket.

Hawke sat at her desk holding the summons from Viscount Dumar, a feeling of dread settling deep in the pit of her stomach. She could admit to herself that her emotions had been anything but stable in the week since her mother's death (_murder_) but at least since her night with Fenris, there had been no more catatonic episodes.

Her night with Fenris had been… she wanted to use words like cathartic or purging or releasing. In truth, however, for her at least, it had been about love and freedom. Some of her bruises were just beginning to fade from bright purple to buttercup yellow. Some of his bruises were in the same state. The looks from her friends had been filled with concern, but how could she explain to them it had not been violence but instead a reckless abandon? An intensity of pain and need that neither had attempted to deny or control.

How would she have survived without him?

They had not spoken of it. Words had seemed both senseless and meaningless. Yet when the golden morning sunlight had spilled onto their interlocked forms – when she had awakened in his arms, surrounded by his wordless understanding of what had passed between them - she knew she _would_ survive her loss and integrate the pain.

Her dread, however, remained, and it was with a heavy heart that Hawke ascended the stairs to prepare for the day.

* * *

Saemus Dumar – dead. Mother Petrice – dead. A warehouse full of Qunari warriors and Tevinter mages – dead. One Wall-eyed Same – dead. Isabela – gone with the Qunari relic. As Hawke approached the Qunari compound with Fenris, Varric and Aveline, there was nothing but death and dissolution in her heart and in her mind. But she did not waver.

* * *

Fenris watched as Hawke accepted the Arishok's challenge. _Basalit-an_ he called her – an outsider worthy of respect. No matter that Isabela had returned with the relic. No matter that countless Qunari, City Guard, Mage and Templar corpses littered the streets. The fate of Kirkwall now depended upon this one small, fierce woman standing alone against a mass of intelligence, muscle and skill. What surprised Fenris was that he did not fear for her life. _No_. What he felt in that moment was pride, and a confidence in Hawke that was unshakeable. He did not question his certainty, but stood erect, lending her his strength. The Arishok's voice boomed – _Meravas_ – so shall it be. And the duel began.

* * *

Champion of Kirkwall. Defender of the City of Chains. The irony was not lost on her. Amid the cheers and congratulations Hawke stood, a small smile gracing the beauty of her face. Her eyes sought Fenris. He stood apart, watching her with a wolf's gaze – a predatory possessiveness that was neither binding nor cruel. Her smiled widened for a moment and she winked at him. In response, the corners of his mouth curved before he was lost to her view amid the celebration. The crowd that carried her along overflowed from the keep and out into the streets. Hawke glanced back once last time at the unmoving form of the Arishok, his life's blood pooled on the floor around him.

* * *

**FROM THE JOURNAL OF VARRIC TETHRAS**

Our Hawke, the downtrodden refuge from Ferelden, is Champion of Kirkwall. I knew there was something about her the minute I met her. I am so proud of her my heart could burst. The duel between Hawke and the Arishok is the stuff legends are made of – no exaggeration required.

Rivaini? Her eyes were big, round saucers the whole time they were dueling. Hawke was a blur of leather and daggers – she used that trick with her _fancy boots_ to keep the Arishok off guard. That's how she killed him. That oxman was reaching for a potion while Hawke was on the other side of the room, but before he could bring the bottle to his lips she was behind him and she plunged her daggers into the exposed skin of his neck. He staggered, fell and never got back up. "We shall return," he said in a gurgling, growling voice. Creepy stuff.

I'll never tell her this, but if the Arishok had agreed to Rivaini's demand to duel her instead, well I believe we'd be short one pirate queen about now. She's the sneakiest thing this side of Antiva, but when it comes to combat no one beats Hawke with her daggers. Apparently not even giant horned oxmen.

Rivaini isn't around much these days, which has me worried. I think she's ashamed to face Hawke after the whole Qunari relic disaster. I know there's no reason for it – Hawke's not the judgmental type – but I'll leave it to the two of them.

There is one last thing I've been meaning to set down here, but that Qunari invasion preempted the tale. It was a few days after Leandra… died (it's hard to think of it that way, what she actually was for a while there was much worse than dead) when Hawke and the elf came by the Hanged Man. Both of them were pretty bruised up, and I knew it wasn't from the battle with Quentin – I was there, and like I've said, when those two fight as a team they usually walk away with hardly a scratch between them. So, I joked around, complaining they were out fighting bad guys without me, but nobody laughed. I don't know why, but it occurred to me maybe they'd been fighting each other, yet they didn't look angry. In fact, the way Fenris was looking at Hawke could have been defined as the opposite of angry.

The elf went downstairs for some pints and I didn't waste any time. I lifted Hawke's bruise-covered arm and asked, "What's going on?"

I was worried she'd gotten in over her head with our broody, spikey elf from Tevinter.

Hawke made the joke this time, said something about being turned on by crazy, but I could tell by her expression she wanted me to leave it alone.

So I did. I can't help but wonder if those two are going to cause each other to self-destruct or if they will end up being each other's salvation. Maker only knows, and only time will tell.


	21. Chapter 20

He was alone, sitting cross-legged in front of the fire, reviewing the events of the past few weeks in his mind. Ever since the night Leandra had been murdered, he'd been running on instinct. One soulful look from Hawke and his efforts at detachment had crumbled. Her pain was like a sharply honed knife that cut through everything between them. In that moment, everything that had comprised his dragon had collapsed into a point of primal need. To be honest, he did not recall much of that night. Hawke had been his only reality and it was the very essence of her that filled his memories.

From that point forward, a bond was created between them. Their mutual loss and pain, their shared desire and need, had them racing together through those next few weeks. Each of them had relied solely on the other for strength and for purpose. No questions. No doubts.

He had not known such a thing was possible.

He had no understanding of what it meant, or how to proceed.

There had been no repeat of old memories flooding his mind, no repercussions except for the scratches and bruises, now completely healed. What exactly had happened between them? He did not know.

But something had changed.

He had changed.

Hawke had changed.

There were two paths forward from this place – to discover his lost past and to kill Danarius.

His eyes rested on the scattered parchment on the table, sheets filled with his scribbling as he learned to write.

_He was learning to write._

A trip to Minrathous to find and kill Danarius would essentially be suicide. But a letter to Qarinus? To this sister? Could he attempt to contact her, to meet her?

He stood and moved to the table, idly lifting a stray piece of parchment on which he had practiced writing his name. Or rather the name Danarius had bestowed upon him. It had been a name meant to humiliate and degrade his newest pet - his slave. How ironic that now his name on Hawke's sweet lips had become such a cherished thing.

All that he wanted in this life was Hawke. And he did not want her half way; the compromise of a damaged and broken soul. The day would come when he would beg her forgiveness for what he had done. The day would come when he would offer to take his place at her side, free from his past, in one way or another. Anything else would be akin to death.

And although he had no reason to doubt Hawke, no reason to believe she would reject or desert him, the thrill of fear that ran down his spine when he thought of a life without her… it was the one thing he knew he could not endure.

Soft footfalls interrupted his musings. A lilting voice called up the stairway. "Fenris?"

He turned as she walked through the open doorway, looking just as she had the day before. The smile she greeted him with, though perhaps tinged with a hint of new sorrow, was the same smile that had captivated him so long ago.

"I need a distraction," Hawke said. She sat in a chair by the fire.

"And you have come to me to find this distraction?" he asked seriously, and took the other seat.

"Of course," she said casually. "You are the most distracting person I know."

It was bait and he knew it. It was how she tested the waters before diving in, and it pleased him. It was then that he realized that she had always done this. The choice had always been his.

This night the choice was between immediate gratification and a step toward his larger goals. He gestured to ink, pen and parchment. "Perhaps we could work on my writing?"

Hawke exhaled a long-suffering sigh, but her expression was teasing. "Of course, if that is your wish," she replied. "But I'm warning you, I may need some motivation before the evening is through."

* * *

Hawke walked through the Gallow's courtyard with a fluttering stomach and a dry mouth. She felt as if everyone were staring at her – Templars and mages alike, which did not help her nerves one bit.

A Tranquil mage crossed her path, the crimson starburst angry on her smooth, pale forehead. The young woman's eyes were vacant, and her face was slack. Hawke shivered as she thought of her sister – the reason she was here this day. If they ever did that to Bethany…

It had taken nearly a month for Knight Captain Cullen to reply to her request to visit Bethany, and she'd opened the missive with trembling fingers. Now, here she was at the appointed hour, her first meeting with Bethany since that monster had killed Mother.

Hawke mounted the short flight of steps leading to the Gallows proper and presented her letter to the Templar stationed there.

"Enter," he said after scanning the parchment.

The room was sterile, and contained only a small, round table and two chairs. There were bars on the narrow, high windows and Hawke thought of Anders. The Gallows was a prison. Mages were ripped away from their families and locked up simply for who they were – their very existence a crime in the eyes of the Chantry.

She paced the room until she heard approaching footsteps, then turned to the door. She was desperate to see her sister. She was terrified to see her sister.

The door opened and Bethany entered the room. Hawke heard the ominously loud clank as it was locked from the other side.

For long moments the two sisters stood looking at each other without speaking, and Hawke found she could not draw a breath. Would Bethany blame her as she blamed herself? Hawke tried to read the expression on her sister's face, but other than the absence of the mark, Bethany could have been a tranquil, her face was so devoid of emotion.

Finally Hawke could stand it no longer. She lifted a hand and felt a stinging pressure behind her eyes as she whispered, "Sister."

The damn burst.

Neither of them were aware of how it happened, but suddenly they were in each other's arms, clinging to each other. After so long, the two Hawke sisters - all that was left of their family – were together again. The flood of tears that followed, the whispered words of sorrow and regret between them – those things were a natural consequence of the reunion of two such beloved sisters.

"I hate that you're in this place," Hawke said as she tried to pull herself together. "I want to take you away from here."

Bethany's eyes went wide and she shook her head violently. "Do not speak of such things," she said in a low voice. "Even the mention of it… it does not go well here since the viscount's death."

Hawke's chest burned with unreleased anger, but she nodded and said, "And you? How are you coping?"

"I have my place here, and I'm safe enough. The First Enchanter has put me in charge of the… of orienting the new children who are… brought to us." She smiled sadly. "Don't worry about me, sister. My work is demanding, but fulfilling. I worry about you… alone in that big house."

"I'm not alone," Hawke attempted a reassuring smile. "There's Bodahn, Sandal and Orana."

Bethany's eyes narrowed. "And what of Fenris?"

Hawke felt herself blush, something she had not done for a long while. "That's… complicated," she said.

Bethany studied her sister's face in silence before she finally said, "When were in the Vimmark's…" she shook her head slightly. "It's obvious you're in love with him, sister."

"I imagine it is," Hawke replied.

"So I ask you again. What of Fenris?"

Hawke knew what Bethany was asking and thought carefully before replying, "I would not have survived this past month without him."

Bethany huffed impatiently. "Does he return your love?" she asked bluntly.

Hawke could only answer, "I believe he will if he can, but…"

"But?"

"He was a _slave_, Bethany. That is not over for him."

"So you would risk your heart, your very _self_, to someone who may never be able to give you what you deserve?" There was no recrimination in Bethany's voice, only sorrow and perhaps a hint of fear.

"I have no choice," was Hawke's whispered reply.

"I see," Bethany said sadly.

"Do you?" asked Hawke. "Do you truly see?" She wanted her sister to understand.

"Honestly? I don't know. I have never been in love." The sadness in Bethany's voice hit Hawke's heart like a fist.

Hawke swallowed the pain and attempted to lighten the mood. "What of Sebastian?" she asked, as she remembered the smiles and blushes that accompanied her sister's responses to the prince.

As if to prove her point, Bethany's cheeks turned pink. "He is very handsome," she said, "and very kind. But I hardly know him."

Wheels began to turn in Hawke's mind. Perhaps Sebastian's position in the Chantry would allow him access to the Gallows. Hawke, however, only said, "I see."

She accomplished her desired result when Bethany giggled. "Touché," she said, but then sobered quickly and continued. "Sister, you must know..." There was a slight pause as Bethany's face grew serious. "I need to tell you…"

Hawke waited. _Here it comes_, she thought.

"I don't want you to feel responsible for Mother… I know you did all you could."

"Did I?" she asked and shook her head. "I don't know."

Bethany only took her hand and gently squeezed it. They both knew there were no words that would make it all right.

They talked about their mother for the rest of their time together until the Templars came to collect Bethany. When Hawke finally left the Gallows, the joy of seeing her sister and the grief at their parting were tightly wrapped together in her heart. It seemed as if her life would forever be challenged by the paradox of holding those two equal and opposite emotions.

* * *

Hawke was dreaming. It was a new place, one she had never visited before. There were rolling hills of green, and a low mist that stretched in long ribbons along the small streams that wandered through the landscape. Up on a hillside she saw Malcolm and Leandra. They were holding hands, and their heads together as if they were deep in conversation. Her parents turned to her and waved, before they vanished behind the crest of the hill.

Hawke began to go after them. To see her mother again, happy and safe – to hear her father speak with confidence and love…

But a voice stopped her movement.

"A shame I had to wait until I was dead to see them together again."

"Carver!" Hawke turned to see her brother approaching her along the white stone path.

"Sister," he said. "What brings you to the Fade?" He considered her for a moment. "You don't _look_ dead."

"Nonsense, Carver," Hawke said, and fell easily back into their snarky banter. "I am simply dreaming."

"That so?" he asked. "This part of the Fade doesn't see much of that." He frowned at her. "But you always did love breaking the rules."

"I didn't pick a lock to get here, you know."

"Are you sure about that?"

Hawke let it go. "What's is like, Carver? Being dead, I mean?"

"It's like anything else. You get used to it." He looked around as if checking for unwanted observers. "Come on, I'll show you something."

Hawke followed him further down the lane to where it crossed over a stream. There was no bridge, only three flat white stones. Carver, however, did not cross the water but instead followed the running brook to its source, where it emerged from a rocky hillside in a rushing waterfall. He sat on a moss-covered log and seemed to wait for something.

"What's this about, Carver?" Hawke asked, and took a seat next to him.

"Just wait," he said. Carver picked up a small pebble and tossed it into the water. "How is Bethany doing in the Gallows?"

"Don't you know how she is?" Hawke asked. "I thought spirits in the Fade could see the living. Father said he was always with me."

"Yes, well that's Father," Carver said, a hint of envy in his voice. "Mages are different here, too."

"Of course, that makes sense." Hawke replied. "Bethany is as well as can be expected. I visited her not long ago."

"That's good to know. I miss her," Carver said of his twin.

"But not me?" Hawke teased.

"Don't mind me," her brother said, and gave her a genuine smile. "You're living the life I always wanted. It's just more envy." He said the last in such a way that Hawke thought he meant more than his words had expressed.

So she asked, "You still have to deal with that bullshit when you're dead?"

Carver laughed. "That's exactly what I'll deal with, and _all_ I'll deal with until I transform it." Another pebble plopped into the stream. "After that? I don't know."

"There's something after this?" Hawke asked.

"Something, yes, but like I said I don't know what it is. Maybe it's like the Chantry says and it's off to the Maker's side." He looked down at his hand holding a non-tossed pebble. "I don't think Mother and Father will be here much longer."

"Oh," Hawke said. "Why were they…"

"Father was waiting for Mother. She had a few issues with Pride, but being with Father again… Well, I don't think letting go of her slight snobbery was all that difficult for her."

So why was Carver still battling with Envy? She stared to ask, but her brother spoke first.

"They say it's harder when you die young." He finally tossed the pebble. "You don't get the chance to work things out while you're alive."

Hawke felt her chest tighten with remembered grief and guilt. "Carver, I am so sorry I…"

"What?" he asked rather sharply. "Sorry you didn't save me from that ogre?" His laugh held no humor. "Get over it Sister. That wasn't about your failure to save everyone from everything."

"What do you mean?" Hawke asked.

"Only this," he said and turned to look at her. "If I were you I'd reexamine your need to do that. What's it from? Pride? Arrogance? Some kind of Martyr complex? Deal with whatever it is now, because you're going to have to deal with it sooner or later."

Hawke opened her mouth to speak but then changed her mind.

"What?" Carver asked impatiently.

"You're still a bit of a twit, Carver," said Hawke. "The truth is, it's because I care. I care a lot. I don't think I want to change that about myself."

"You really believe that?" he asked.

"Apparently you don't," she retorted.

Carver sighed and dropped his shoulders. "Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't judge."

Hawke put her hand on his arm and looked at him with affection. "No, you shouldn't."

"I wish I could still be there for you, sister," he said.

Hawke nodded, unable to speak past the sudden tightness in her throat.

"Want to know why I brought you here?" he asked.

Hawke nodded again.

"Watch then."

A few minutes later, an old, grey-haired woman came shooting down the waterfall and landed in the small pool at its base. She spat and sputtered, and pushed the wet mop of her hair from her eyes as she struggled with her wet skirts to get free of the water.

Hawke watched incredulously. "This is how people enter the Fade when they die?"

Carver laughed. "No, not all of them. This is just the funniest way."

Hawke slowly shook her head and smiled. "You haven't changed a bit," she said.

"I know, that's the problem," he replied sadly.

* * *

It was a melancholy morning - her dream of Carver lingered on the edges of her mind. The image of her parents waving to her from the hillside was forever burned into her memory.

Hawke hadn't even dressed yet, and was curled up in her favorite chair in the library. There was an unread book in her lap, and a cup of tea, cold and forgotten, on the table beside her. She stared into the flames of the fire without really seeing them, so preoccupied was she with her thoughts.

So many changes. So much loss.

Her desk was littered with unanswered requests for the Champion of Kirkwall, to attend this function or that, but the title felt hollow in her heart.

Yes, it was a melancholy morning.

What her heart craved was the warm comfort of being surrounded by people she loved. Family.

When the library door opened and a tall, handsome elf walked in, she felt as if she'd summoned him with her desire. "Fenris," she said lazily.

"I hope I am not intruding," he said hesitantly.

"Oh no, quite the opposite," Hawke said, and rose from her seat. "I was about to collapse into a little ball of loneliness."

Fenris' brow lowered and he said quite seriously, "We can not allow that."

For some reason, whether it was the tone of his voice, or his thoughtful gaze as he moved to stand before her, Hawke felt her eyes stinging, as if she might cry.

"Is something wrong?" he asked with concern. He held out a hand to her, which she gratefully grasped in both of her own.

"Not any longer," she said and brought his hand to her lips.

"Hawke," he began, but his eyes darted away from hers. He looked concerned, confused.

"Fenris?" Her stomach fluttered, whether from desire or fear, she did not know.

"I want…" he tried again as he brought his eyes back to hers. The expression in them caused the fluttering to drop low into her belly. "I want you to know… to know that I…"

Hawke lifted one hand and pressed her fingers to his lips. "There's no need," she said. "You are here, that's all that ever matters."

He lifted her hand away. "Is it?" he asked. "I want to be so much _more_ than just here."

"That is why it is enough." She decided that was enough _talking_ and pressed her lips to his.

His response surprised her. It was not the raw need of their last encounter, or the ravenous hunger of their first. This kiss was more akin to a melting, a surrender into her, and her heart swelled.

This kiss felt like love.

* * *

The smell of burning incense tickled Hawke's nose as she entered the Chantry hall and scanned the room for Sebastian.

"Hawke," came the prince's voice from high above her. Minutes later he was descending the stairway, a welcoming smile on his face.

"Sebastian," she greeted him, and for some reason she wanted to kiss his cheek.

"What brings you here?" he asked, and he seemed rather awkward and unsure of himself.

Dance around it or straight out with it? She chose the later. "I have a favor to ask of you, my friend."

He bowed slightly and replied, "If it is within my power, consider it done."

_Well, he's making it easy_, she thought. "It's about Bethany…" she began.

His face filled with concern. "Is she not well? Is there some trouble?"

_Hmm_, Hawke thought. _This could be much easier than I imagined_. "She is well enough, and there is no trouble, but," Hawke paused, searching for the right words. _No dancing_, she thought again, and made her request. "Would you consider visiting her?"

Sebastian actually blushed, and though she did not allow it to show on her face, she felt like laughing. Why did the thought of her sister and Sebastian delight her so much?

"If it would please her," he said, "and you. It would be my honor."

"It would," Hawke replied. "I think she needs friends outside of the Circle. It can be very singular, only seeing other mages, especially for someone like Bethany who lived most of her life outside of it."

"Yes, that makes sense." Sebastian said and thoughtfully rubbed at his chin. "I will file a request today. I can see no reason why it would be denied."

This time Hawke could not help herself, she leaned forward and placed a light kiss on his cheek. "Thank you Sebastian," she said.

* * *

"Enchanter Bethany, please come with me, said a tall, light-haired Templar. She thought his name was Hugh.

When she'd first earned the title of Enchanter, they had called her Enchanter Hawke, but Bethany had insisted she be called by her given name. Somehow the Hawke name seemed only to belong to her sister now. Even her mother, Maker keep her soul, had reclaimed the Amell name before her death. Mari _was_ Hawke and trying to change that would be like trying to change the tides.

She had just finished her evening meal when the Templar approached her, and Bethany was puzzled (and yes, a little frightened) by the unexpected summons.

"Does the First Enchanter wish to see me?" she asked. She'd much prefer an audience with Orsino than with the Knight Commander.

"Please follow me," was the only response she received.

Bethany was somewhat relieved when they entered the long, low wing of rooms set aside for the rare visitor allowed by Knight Commander Meredith. Of late, these rooms had remained mostly unused. She had been surprised when her sister was permitted to visit, but supposed it was difficult to deny a request from the Champion of Kirkwall. Bethany still had trouble reconciling the fact that her sister had killed the Arishok in single combat. Mari was certainly one of a kind. Her hopes rose as she considered that perhaps her sister had returned, as unlikely as that seemed. It had been, after all, only a few days since they had last seen each other. But who else would come to see her? Surely not Gamlen?

* * *

Sebastian paced the room, just as Hawke had done not long ago. He wasn't entirely sure what he was doing here. Somehow the Hawke sisters had become intertwined in his life in a way he had not thought possible.

Yes, he was to all intents and purposes a Brother in the Chantry. But the Grand Cleric continually refused to officially reinstate him. Hawke, on the other hand, had welcomed him into her fold from the start. It _had_ begun with a paid job, but ever since she had helped him with the Harimanns out of friendship, he'd been happy, even eager, to… what? Tag along on her misadventures?

Sebastian was beginning to understand what Fenris had meant that first night when he'd been attempting to understand Hawke: _She is unique. I've never met anyone like her._

Fenris was an interesting man. His relationship to Hawke was even more interesting. Sebastian had never see a more skilled warrior, just as Hawke had described him when they'd first been introduced. He was all admiration for what Fenris had accomplished in his life as a free man. But for some reason the elf did not see it that way. Sebastian had a feeling that Hawke herself was most of what motivated Fenris' choices. He smiled to himself. Of course that could be said of all her friends.

He remembered that first night he'd spent with Hawke and her friends at the Hanged Man in vivid detail. Hawke and Fenris had sat together at the end of the table, not a hair's breadth between them. A rather intoxicated Hawke had smiled wickedly at Fenris, and he… but it was difficult to describe the expression on the elf's face, yet his eyes had never left her for a second.

He could admit to himself that he'd envied the attention Hawke had shown Fenris that night. She was like a candle burning brightly in a darkened room. When Hawke was around, it was nearly impossible to see anyone else.

Until, that was, Sebastian had met her sister on their trip to the Vimmark Mountains. At least for him, Bethany's own flame had burned so brightly he had felt nearly blinded. Darker of hair and eye than Hawke, Bethany was softer, more fragile in appearance than her sister. The family resemblance was clear to see, but Bethany's gentler nature and shy manners had been… captivating.

The longer he was around her, the more he'd begun to question his Chantry vows. It was with palpable relief that he had seen Hawke's mage sister returned to the Gallows – she was now a temptation now safely tucked away. He'd done his best to put her out of his mind, which included reciting the Chant of Light incessantly before bed each night. He tended to dream of her if he did not.

Then had come Hawke's request to pay this visit, and between his apparent inability to say no to Hawke, and his secret desire to see Bethany again, he had not hesitated to say yes.

Sebastian was roused from his thoughts by the creaking of the heavy door as it opened. Bethany entered the room then, and the loud clank as the heavy bar dropped into place and locked them in made her jump.

Splashes of pink were high on her cheek as her dark eyes hesitantly captured his own. Bethany greeted him with a formal curtsy. "Sebastian," she said.

Why did his name on her lips cause his heart to race? In his life before his dedication to the Chantry he had been very… experienced with women, but he never remembered feeling like this. He began to recite the Chant of Light in his mind even as he said, "Lady Hawke," and bowed to her formally.

Bethany smiled, and he was reminded why Varric called her Sunshine. "Please," she said, "if you must be so formal, I am Enchanter Bethany." The teasing smile she gave him reminded him so much of Hawke he thought perhaps he should reevaluate his assumption of Bethany as a shy and gentle wallflower. "I'd prefer Bethany, though," she finished.

"Of course. Bethany," he pulled a chair away from the table and gestured for her to take it.

As they sat together there was a moment of awkward silence before Bethany said, "I hope you've been well since last we met."

Sebastian smiled. "Very well, thank you," he replied and then his wayward tongue added, "It is very apparent that you are well yourself."

Her blush returned and she fidgeted in her seat. "You are very kind."

"Not at all, I simply speak the truth," he said. Why did flattering her seem as natural as breathing? He was seriously beginning to wonder if this visit had been a good idea, when Bethany spoke again.

"I'm sure my sister had something to do with why you're here," she said as if reading his mind. "But know that I appreciate it. Living in the Circle can be a very…interesting experience. Her shy smile grew wider as she added, "It's nice to remember there are people who wear other than robes and skirts."

Sebastian couldn't help himself, he laughed. She was so sweetly charming. "Yes, I imagine that would be a pleasant change," he replied. "The Grand Cleric herself requested permission for my visit from the Knight Commander. Elthina remembers your family with great fondness."

"Please thank her for me," said Bethany. "I would do so myself, but…"

"You may not leave the Gallows," Sebastian finished for her. "A prudent rule in most cases, but I'm afraid you suffer for the less trustworthy among you."

"True," she said. "I can not speak plainly, but the troubles here lately have been… disturbing."

"I understand," he replied. And he did. Rumors of Meredith's erratic behavior, whisperings of blood mages infiltrating the Circle and influencing Templars, the list went on and on. They lapsed into silence again and Sebastian found himself preoccupied with the fullness of Bethany's lips and the soft curve of her cheek. He cleared his throat, searching for something appropriate to say. "May I offer you my condolences on the loss of your mother," he finally said, and then could have kicked himself for bring up such a painful subject, considering the way Leandra had died.

"Thank you," Bethany said, and that beautifully full lower lip of hers began to tremble slightly. "It has been difficult, especially without my sister to comfort me."

"Or you, her," he said.

Bethany smiled sadly. "Mari is lucky. She has good friends." She looked at Sebastian fondly, the implication clear.

He nodded. "I appreciate the compliment, but in truth I think it has been Fenris alone who has seen her through this most difficult time." He watched as Bethany seemed to struggle with herself, and he thought he understood. "There is something you'd like to ask?" he prompted.

She blushed for the third time. "Is he… do you think that Fenris, well, is he good for Mari?"

That was not an easy question to answer. Like all of Hawke's friends, he had been concerned as events had unfolded after her mother's death. The two of them, Hawke and her elf, had shut out the world for those weeks and the visceral results had been rather disturbing. But since Hawke had fought the Arishok and been named Champion of Kirkwall, both she and Fenris had seemed to rally. The desperation that had so haunted them both had faded into some sort of new bond, a new understanding between them. So it was with some conviction that he said, "I do. Their path may not be an easy one, but I believe the Maker's grace is upon them."

The relief in Bethany's eyes, the sheen of tears there, hit Sebastian's heart in an upwelling of compassion for the young woman before him. Without thinking, he reached out and took her slim hand in his. "Do not worry yourself milady, Hawke is a strong woman and Fenris is utterly dedicated to her."

"You do my heart good," Bethany said and the way she smiled at him caused his breath to catch in his throat.

Sebastian was afraid that even the Chant of Light would not keep her from his dreams this night.


	22. Chapter 21

"You couldn't find Isabela?" Hawke asked Varric, and there was a worried frown on her face.

"Neither hide nor hair for weeks now," Varric replied. "Don't worry, Hawke, Rivaini will show up soon enough. Your birthday is coming up and you know how she loves to give you presents."

Hawke laughed. Every year Isabela claimed not to have 'gotten around to' getting Hawke a present, and every year she gave Hawke a birthday kiss instead.

They were all gathered in Varric's rooms, reduced back to only seven of them without Isabela to grace the table. Hawke had brought them all together because there remained a small matter with the Carta she had not yet dealt with. The image of Fenris covered in blood was a source of nightmares for her still. In those dreams Anders failed and Fenris never woke up.

Hawke was having quite a few nightmares these days. The recurring bloody Fenris dream was perhaps the most frequent, but there was one even more horrific. In it her mother did not die, but remained essentially an animated corpse. Leandra would meander around their Hightown mansion, vile fluids leaking from the places where Quentin had stitched her together. There was also another nightmare in which Templars would bring Bethany's corpse to the estate, only to have her dead sister rise again as an abomination that Hawke would be forced to kill.

She was determined to take some action that would put at least some of her nighttime horrors to rest.

"I miss Isabela too, Hawke," Merrill said sadly. "She was teaching me to swagger."

Merrill's words lifted Hawke from her less than pleasant reverie. The image of Merrill ever actually swaggering made her smile. It was just what she needed. She also noticed she was holding Fenris' hand in a death grip under the table, which he was allowing without complaint. She ease her grasp and ran her thumb lightly over his knuckles, then felt her mood improve even more when his lips curved ever so slightly at the corners.

Anders was needling Sebastian about the image of Andraste's face on the crotch of the prince's armor. She wondered how his visit with Bethany had gone, but so far Sebastian had volunteered nothing except to say "Your sister seems well." Hawke would just have to ask Bethany for details next time she visited the Gallows.

Aveline was… Aveline was staring at her very intently. She had no idea what compelled her to do it. It was actually done before she'd even had a chance to consider it, but she stuck out her tongue at the Guard Captain. Aveline gave a short, startled laugh before resuming that severe stare. The Guard Captain would have to wait for whatever censure she had in store for Hawke. Right now she had her own agenda.

Hawke turned back to Varric. "So Varric, what's the word on the Carta?"

"Hmph," he replied. "Are you sure you want to go there Hawke?"

With no hesitation she replied, "Yes, I do." This time it was Fenris who tightened his grip on her hand.

"I thought as much," Varric said with a sigh.

It turned out they did not get very far in the plan-concocting department. Something just felt _off_ about the whole thing. Was it that Isabela was not with them? Certainly her runaway friend had no skill in strategic planning – in fact her plans were usually overly simplistic and downright laughable. No, she thought it more likely that it was Isabela's mojo that was missing – her presence was certainly invigorating.

They all began to wander down to the bar, when Aveline stepped directly in Hawke's path, that severe expression fixed on her face. Hawke really wasn't in the mood for a _talking to _and sighed heavily before asking, "Aveline?"

"Hawke," the Guard Captain said, and crossed her arms across her chest.

Hawke rolled her eyes. "What law have I broken now?"

"How about involving the Captain of the Guard in a vendetta against the Carta." Aveline said stiffly.

Hawke had the good grace to blush. "Oh, that…"

"Yes, that." Aveline replied.

Hawke squirmed. "It's not like you haven't asked for my help against them yourself."

Aveline scowled. "There's a big difference between a sanctioned operation and a plot for revenge, Hawke."

"I didn't see the guard respond very well to the attempted murder of me or my sister," Hawke countered heatedly.

"And what could we have done?" Aveline asked. "Those assassins were dead before we had a _chance_ to respond."

"I don't want to argue, Aveline," Hawke said. She suddenly felt weary beyond belief. "But I can't let this go."

"And why is that, Hawke? Didn't you go after those tainted dwarves? Aren't they all dead?" Aveline's expression softened into one of concern. "You need to let this go. It's eating you alive."

The compassion in Aveline's eyes, and the caring in her voice caused something in Hawke's chest to shift. What was she doing, really? Was she replacing hate with more hate? She looked at Aveline uncertainly.

"Hawke," Aveline said and placed a hand on her shoulder, and her eyes were filled with empathy as she went on. "You know I understand, but what you're doing now would be the same thing as if I had taken up a vendetta against every darkspawn in Thedas because one group killed Wesley." Her voice was hoarse now. "It would never end. There's no _life_ in that."

As Hawke studied Aveline's earnest expression, she thought perhaps it wasn't the lack of Isabela's mojo, but rather the lack in her own heart. That perhaps her heart knew what her mind did not. Revenge was not her path.

_True heart, Mari._

And finally, finally she felt her heart truly open again. She felt that surety of purpose that had been her guide and her anchor throughout her life.

It had nothing to do with revenge.

Hawke nodded, unable to form words, but Aveline understood. She pulled Hawke into an embrace and whispered, "That's my girl."

* * *

As they had so many times before, Hawke and Fenris ascended the steps to Hightown together. The night held a new chill, the first hint of autumn was in the air and a thin crescent moon hovered low in the sky.

Hawke was unusually quiet. She had been quiet since she'd descended the stairs with Aveline, a thoughtful expression on her face. After only one pint, Hawke had asked him to walk her home, leaving the others to a rousing game of Diamondback. Also unlike Hawke, she made no move to take his hand or touch him at all. Fenris had not known what to do. He had matched her silence, but had also watched her carefully. Some fey mood had taken her, and it was one with which he was not familiar. On unfamiliar ground, Fenris found it was always best to use caution.

When they reached the Amell Estate, instead of going home, Hawke kept walking toward the Chantry.

"Hawke?" he questioned as he quickened his pace to keep up with her.

She finally took his hand and pulled him along. "I don't want to," she said, but did not explain what it was she didn't want. He assumed from her actions that she did not want to go home.

Apparently they were going to his home, and he did not resist as she continued to lead him. Once they were in the mansion and up the stairs to his room, she released him and began to build up the fire. Fenris watched her, feeling confused. He thought he should say something, so he tried, "Would you care for some wine?" It came out more formally than he intended.

She glanced at him briefly, the smallest smile curving her lips. "Why yes, thank you," she replied just as formally.

When he returned from the basement with the bottle, the fire was burning brightly, and Hawke stood before it, watching the flames dance. She'd removed her outer leathers and stood in her leggings and tunic, her feet bare.

She said, "I need to talk to you, Fenris."

For some reason her words, so simply said, made him uneasy. He set the wine on the table and hesitantly walked over to her. "I am listening," he said.

Hawke did not look at him, but kept her gaze on the flickering flames. "I want to apologize," she said.

"What have you done?" he asked. He could think of no reason why she should apologize to him.

When she laughed softly and finally looked up at him, he felt somewhat better, yet he remained confused.

"Well put," she said. "What have I done?" Hawke shook her head slightly, her expression rueful. "But I'm afraid it's not so simple."

"I do not understand." What was she saying? Why did he suddenly feel afraid?

Instead of explaining, she said, "Remember the trip we took to sell the wrist cuff? The set-up by Danarius to recapture you?"

"How could I forget?" he asked.

"I was sitting on a log, cooling my feet in the stream, and you found me there."

"Yes," he agreed. It was one of his most cherished memories. "It was the first time we kissed."

"It was," she said.

"You wish to apologize for that? You must know there is no need. I was not harmed."

"Weren't you?" she asked. "I tried to be careful. Even then I understood the danger. But I…"

"Danger? You mean the slavers?" he asked. What was she saying? "Hawke, you need to speak plainly."

She sighed. "You're right of course." She looked back into the fire briefly before returning her gaze to his. "Fenris, I've known… for a very long time I have known… I told myself it would be alright if we took it slowly, that if I were careful… I thought that despite the challenges in our lives…"

Fenris was getting frustrated. He grasped her arm and said, "You are not speaking plainly, Hawke. You continue to confuse me."

"Exactly so," she whispered. "I'm afraid that is all I have done for years."

He thought about it, and had to admit it was true. Hawke had always stretched his boundaries, pulled him out of his shell, and had him dealing with feelings he did not understand or know what to do about. Did she think he was angry with her? Did she believe she had harmed him in some way? He could not allow that, and therefore he said, "There is nothing to apologize for." He did not say so, but he was the one that must ask her forgiveness. He was the one who remained unable to give her what what she deserved. He was still a hunted man. He had nothing to offer her but his sword and his loyalty. Even the physical aspect of their relationship was dangerous, but that was his fault, not hers.

"There is one thing I have never told you," she said, and her expression was sad. "The most important thing, and I have withheld it from you because because I was afraid."

"Afraid of what?" he asked. He did not want Hawke to be afraid. He allowed his hand to drop from her arm and took her hand, lacing his fingers with hers.

"Today Aveline reminded me of something I had forgotten. Something these last few months…" she paused, obviously struggling to contain her emotions. "I've been running from it all. From the pain, the loss," she brought her hand to his cheek. "I would never have survived without you."

"Hawke," he said, his voice a low growl filled with remembered need.

"Fenris," she whispered. "I gave you my heart long ago. Whatever comes, it will always be yours." She leaned in and softly kissed his cheek. "I love you Fenris."

* * *

Hawke waited, not knowing how he would react. She steeled herself for rejection, not because he _would_ not love her, but because he _could_ not. She could not blame him. How could she? If anyone knew the damage that had been done to Fenris, it was she. If anyone could understand how his life as a slave had made him an emotional cripple, it was she. But she also knew that in order for her to remain true to herself, to her heart, she needed to give him this last thing. She must not withhold from him the most important thing about herself – and that was love.

He held her gaze for long moments, but she could not read his expression. When he did not speak, she only thought to herself_, no matter what_.

And so wasn't Hawke surprised when his mouth descended on hers. She was caught completely off-guard and could do no less than respond to him with everything she was feeling - and she was feeling a lot.

There was passion, and need and perhaps a touch of old-fashioned lust – yet there was something else – though she did not try to name it.

Fenris lifted his head and said hoarsely, "This is all I can give you." He gathered her into his arms and carried her to the bed, and she knew she would accept, would gladly welcome, _anything_ he could give her.

That night, Fenris healed the wounds of her heart with his touch. Late in the night, wrapped in his arms, Hawke smiled. She thought perhaps now her heart was strong enough to protect them both.

* * *

Fenris awoke with Hawke tucked snugly against him, and unlike their nights together when he'd been recovering from his injuries, she was in his arms naked and warm. He pushed the thought away that he did not deserve this. It was for Hawke. It was what _she_ deserved – it was what she needed of him. In this matter, he was irrelevant. His pain and uncertainty were inconsequential.

His fears no longer mattered. He would do his best to give her what she required, to be who she needed him to be, no matter the cost to himself. Last night, he'd had another wash of memory overwhelm him. He would not tell her. She should not know because it would only cause her pain.

He could not allow that.

Her words had undone him. _I gave you my heart long ago. Whatever comes, it will always be yours. I love you._

He breathed in the scent of her, so familiar, so sweet to his senses. He could not return her gift in equal measure; his heart was not yet his to give to her. It was all he could do to control the tumult of feeling just being near her, being with her, caused to rage through him. He thought that underneath the wasteland Danarius had left in his heart, he did love her. He must. What other reason could there be for the pain he was willing to endure for her? He would find a way to make the part of himself that responded to his Hawke whole again.

He would do this.

Hawke stirred, and looked up at him, her eyes sultry and lit from within. Faceted tourmaline eyes. They hypnotized him.

When she moved her body to align with his, when she reached for him and drew him inside of her, he knew that he would find a way, no matter what.

**FROM THE JOURNAL OF VARRIC TETHRAS**

Every time I think I have Hawke and her elf figured out, well I turn out to be wrong. Or – those two change the rules. Could be both, you never know.

After Leandra died, I was nearly convinced they were going to take a trip to crazytown together and never come back. Or worse. _Maker_, I wasn't sure how bad the damage would be. I guess it made sense that when Hawke finally cracked, the only person who could save her was someone who was just as broken. Who else could really understand?

But then after that night I eavesdropped on Aveline calling Hawke out on her shit (Hey! Storyteller over here, it's my job!), that crazy shit just seemed to vanish into thin air. Maybe Aveline had something to do with it, but my guess is she was only the catalyst. Whatever happened, it was between Hawke and Fenris, because the next day – the very next day – I walked into my rooms and what do you think my wondering eyes should see?

You're not going to believe this one, maybe you should sit down. I walked in and there were Hawke and her elf, standing over by my dresser, hugging. I'm not shitting you, it was an embrace. Her head on his shoulder, his arms wrapped around her – yeah, like that.

Now, you have to remember that ninety percent of the entertainment value of those two has been a result of the unbridled chemistry between them. Those jokes about exploding? Yeah, they were only mild exaggerations. Plus, seeing those two together has always made me want to applaud. I'm not kidding.

That embrace? That shit was solace, it was soul mate, it was kindred spirit quality. And maybe that's not as highly entertaining, but it has an effect on a person, seeing something like that.

For about a second I actually considered it might be time to write the story of Bianca. But then I remembered it was just a name I randomly chose when I found out Mirabelle was taken, and I laughed at my own joke.

Maybe that slight chuckle is what made them aware of my presence, and I half expected them to pull apart all nervous and shit like they'd been _caught_. Instead, Hawke looked up and she gave me one of those heart-stopping smiles of hers. I thought, _That crazy son of a bitch elf did it. Somehow he pulled her through_. Not that I'm not giving Hawke any credit, but some things you just can't do alone. Sometimes you have to trust another person to hold you up out of the water and keep you from drowning.

Come to think of it, I guess Hawke's been doing that for the elf from the beginning.

Heh – I don't know what's down the road for those two, but part of Hawke's tale has turned out to be an epic love story.

On a side note, turns out that Hawke had come to tell me she was dropping the Carta revenge gig. What a relief. Some of my business… Well, I won't go into that.

Besides, with the tension brewing and building in the Gallows, I'm figuring we're going to have enough trouble on our hands without going out to look for it. Just between you and me? I'm worried about Sunshine.

* * *

Hawke lay alone in her own bed, her fingers caressing the moonstone Fenris had give her so long ago. She really should have it set in a pendant – have Sandal enchant it. She'd like to have it with her always.

More than that, she'd like to have Fenris with her always, but she wasn't complaining. She wasn't even pining. He had accepted her gift and returned to her as much as he could, with generosity and care. Hawke doubted that he knew she understood what it had cost him, but she had heard his thundering heartbeat and felt his body shaking as he lay next to her, long after there was any physical reason for it. When they came together, when they made love, actually – Fenris suffered from some sort of emotional overload, one that freed his memories from the prison of the past. It broke through whatever the lyrium had done to him, if only briefly.

After her mother had died, those nights had been anything but making love. They had been primal, physical and raw – a catharsis of pain and loss, and he'd not experienced these ill effects of the mind. Of course she knew it was all intertwined with his emotions and the abuses he had endured for so long. It seemed to her that there should be some way for the power of their connection to aid in his healing, though she did not now how. It was a potential, an intuition that constantly nudged at her.

She did not entirely understand why he had not shared with her that he had suffered again. She did not entirely like that he had not done so. Yet he had not run. He had gripped the sheets as sweat had beaded on his brow, and his body threatened to convulse. He had endured it and she had silently watched him in his struggle. Her struggle had been in not reaching out to him in comfort and concern. But because her path was not clear – her knowledge incomplete, she had not interfered.

How long had the episode lasted? She wasn't sure, but the time had passed slowly, the minutes crawling by into maybe a half hour before his breathing had steadied and his body had unclenched. Another length of time passed as she lay awake, and continued to observe him surreptitiously. She'd almost decided he'd fallen asleep, when he turned to her, reached for her, pulled her to him and laid his head over her heart. His arms curled around her hips as his legs tangled with hers. Hawke had allowed him to arrange her, had remained relaxed and yielded to his embrace in a surrender to his unspoken need.

It wasn't long before Hawke was sure he was asleep, and had allowed herself to join him, slipping slowly down into slumber.

She smiled as she remembered the morning, waking up to find his eyes upon her, the morning light softening the angles of his face. But as his gaze locked with hers so intently, she found herself responding, reaching for him, and oh the results had been sweet bliss.

He had not suffered a repeated attack afterward, which punched a few holes in her theory, didn't it?

Hawke settled the moonstone in her palm and curled onto her side, preparing to sleep. She had just closed her eyes when she heard footsteps, the sound of the doorknob turning, and the wash of cooler air that entered from the hallway as her bedroom door was pushed open. She rose up on one elbow and softly called, "Fenris?"

"Bodahn let me in," he said coming to stand at the foot of her bed.

She eyed him speculatively. "So what it is? I need to dress and come with you, or you need to undress and climb in here with me?" she asked teasingly, and pulled back the blankets in invitation.

"I… I could not sleep," he said and looked as if he wished to say more, but did not.

"Undress it is, then," she said.

He stood there, not moving, and it was obvious he was struggling to say something. "Hawke," he said, his voice a low growl, "I am not… I am not prepared to… to…"

Oh, it was like that. She smiled with the knowledge that she could make this easy for him. "I'm very tired, Fenris." She pretended to yawn widely. "So hurry up and get in so I can sleep."

To her relief he moved to the side of the bed and began to remove his armor. He stopped at his small clothes and slid into the bed next to her. She spooned herself against him and exhaled a long sigh. Fenris kissed the soft skin of her throat below her ear and settled himself against her.

Hawke smiled. She hadn't been pining – no, not at all. But if she had been, well, there would be no more of it this night.

* * *

Sebastian seemed to pace a lot these days. In need of air, he'd decided to take his pacing out of doors and into the Chantry Courtyard. The morning was brisk, and his breath exhaled in small, white puffs as he traversed the length of the cobbled courtyard.

He should not be having these thoughts. He tried to bring the Chant of Light to mind, but could not get past the image of dark waves of hair, full lips curved into a shy smile and obsidian eyes sparkling from within. What was it about the Hawke sisters and their glittering eyes? His wayward thoughts continued despite his struggles against them. His imagination saw her clearly, moving about his ancestral home, a circle of silver gracing her clear brow. She was a princess of elegance and beauty.

_Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls,_

_From these emerald waters doth life begin anew,_

_Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you._

_In my arms lies eternity._

Those verses that so often soothed his troubled soul only brought more images of Bethany into his mind.

_The deep well of her eyes._

_The sweet embrace he longed for._

_Her slender arms around him._

Maker, he was in trouble.

When he turned to continue his pacing, he saw a mop of white hair and a slender form emerge into the courtyard.

"Fenris!" he shouted, eager for a distraction. "Good morning to you!"

The elf approached him and gave a slight bow. "Sebastian," he said.

"What brings you out so early? Are you coming from the market?" Sebastian asked.

Fenris glanced behind him, "No, I…"

It occurred to Sebastian then that Hawke's estate was also in that direction. "Pardon me," he said, "I did not mean to pry."

Fenris' smile seemed reluctant, as if he could not help himself. "I suppose it is common knowledge."

Sebastian found himself chuckling. "You suppose correctly, but that does not mean it is any of my business."

"Thank you," Fenris said and looked away briefly before confiding, "My past makes the situation… difficult."

Sebastian was surprised that Fenris would say anything so personal, and perhaps that was what prompted him to say, "I understand more than you think, my friend."

Fenris looked surprised. "Do you? How could a prince have a troubled past?"

"I do not have the hubris to compare the difficulties of my past to yours, of course," he said. "It is merely my own internal struggle. The prince versus the Chantry Brother and my heart…"

Fenris remained silent, and watched Sebastian with an interested expression.

Sebastian thought to himself that if anyone would understand his struggle, it might be the man before him. So he said, "There is something about the Hawke sisters that…" That what? Got under one's skin? Burrowed into your soul? Sebastian shook his head.

"What do you mean, _the Hawke sisters_?" Fenris asked, and his tone was not exactly friendly.

Sebastian sighed and his shoulders dropped. "Bethany," he said. "Bethany Hawke." There. It was on the table.

"You… you care for Hawke's sister?" Fenris asked.

"I should not. It is not a choice I can rightly make," said Sebastian. "But there it is, and it will not release me."

Fenris chuckled low in his throat. "Yes. I do understand your… problem." He looked thoughtfully at the prince. "I do not know whether to offer you my sympathies or tell you what a fortunate man you are."

Sebastian smiled ruefully. "I suppose only time will tell," he said. "May I inquire… is all well with you?" he asked.

"No," said Fenris. "It is not well." His expression turned almost fierce as he continued. "Yet I have chosen my path and I will follow it to its end."

"Then you have a clear advantage over me," replied Sebastian.

"We shall see," Fenris said. He nodded and left the prince standing there, no closer to resolution, but knowing that the choice would have to be made. The rapid beating of his heart told him he must act soon.


	23. Chapter 22

Hawke stood in front of the mirror in her small clothes and swayed slightly. She watched as the moonstone between her breasts caught the evening light and burst into colors; chartreuse, azure, and apricot shifted in beautiful chaotic patterns. She'd picked up the pendant from the jewelers that morning and had given it to Sandal, who had happily exclaimed, "Enchantment!"

She'd chosen a sturdy silver chain for the pendant because she never intended to take it off. Funny that it had taken her four years to have the gemstone set. Seeing it nestled between the swell of her breasts, well, it seemed like it had been there all along.

It was past time that she dressed. Tonight was her name day party. She picked up the brocade vest Isabela had given her, and slid the silken fabric between her fingers. Varric had been wrong. Isabela had not returned. She was still off somewhere doing something, and knowing Isabela, it was probably illegal.

Despite her betrayal in the Fade, and even after the debacle with the Qunari relic, Hawke missed Isabela terribly. Her friend had returned the relic and had even offered to duel the Arishok. Hawke had forgiven her the moment she walked in through the throne room doors. There was no one else like her - no one quite so irreverent and affectionate and sometimes, yes, even devious. She liked that about the pirate, too.

Hawke still harbored a hope in her heart that Isabela would show up at the Hanged Man tonight, small hope though it may be. How could you offer your forgiveness if you were never given the chance?

The sound of voices drifted up to her from downstairs and Hawke immediately recognized the low growl of Fenris. She moved to the doorway and called to him, "Here, Fenris." She covered her chest with the vest, and tucked back into the room. Hawke didn't have long to wait.

* * *

Fenris walked into Hawke's bedroom and was unprepared for the sight that greeted him. She stood by her wardrobe, clad in the barest wisps of fabric, clutching a red vest to her chest. The smile on her face was very wicked and her eyes danced with mischief. "Come here," she commanded. Yes, it did sound like a command and he had the briefest flash of what that had felt like coming from the lips of someone who had owned him, and yet his feet began to move. The feeling, however, did not last, and as he approached Hawke and took in the sight of her, he felt anything but subservient.

"You are not yet dressed," he said.

"No," she replied, "I am not."

"Is there a reason this is so?" he asked hopefully.

"Why yes, in fact, there is," she said and slowly lowered the vest. He was happy enough with the view he knew was soon to be revealed, and was already lifting his hand intending to do more than just admire her. He noticed the silver chain dropping into the vee between her breasts, but when the fabric dropped away and he saw the pendant on the end of the chain, his hand froze.

It was the moonstone he'd given her on another name day. A night he remembered with equal measures of chagrin and fondness. Fenris knew she kept it by her bed, but now, as it graced the soft swell of her skin, it looked more rare and beautiful than the most priceless diamond. His hand resumed its movement, and he lifted the moonstone and ran his fingers across its cool surface. His eyes met hers and she smiled in that captivating way that was pure Hawke.

"Do you like it?" she asked.

He carefully set the pendant back in place and allowed himself the pleasure of running his fingers lightly over the swell of her breasts. "I do," he said and felt her shiver at his touch. "Very much."

She turned it over to show him the rune crafted perfectly into the back. "Sandal's work."

He smiled. "It protects against magic."

"Exactly so," she said.

Hawke looked young and carefree and achingly beautiful as she slipped her arms through the vest and laced up the bodice. She was a vision.

"I see I will have a busy night," he said with a wry smile.

"How so?" she asked as she looked down at the pendant, which now reflected the deeper crimson of the fabric.

"I will be fighting off the unwanted advances of every man in the room." He looked down at her scantily clad bottom. "Especially if you do not finish dressing."

Hawke laughed. "They wouldn't dare." She leaned up and brushed his lips softly with hers. "They are all terrified of you."

"Are they?" he asked as he smoothed his tongue across the line of her jaw. "They should be."

She leaned into him. "Scared out of their wits," she confirmed.

He nipped at her earlobe with his teeth and whispered in her ear, "Shouldn't you be dressing?"

"Yes," she sighed.

As it turned out, Hawke was late for her own party.

* * *

**FROM THE JOURNAL OF VARRIC TETHRAS**

Another year, another name day party for Hawke. The festivities were in full swing by the time she arrived, her elf in tow. From the look of them they had good reason for being late, and I admit I was somewhat disappointed at first, thinking they'd already had their fun in private. I needn't have worried – the entertainment value of those two together has not diminished in the slightest.

With the help of several highly placed people, we'd arranged quite the surprise for Hawke. I waited until the inevitable chaos that happens when Hawke enters a room had died down a bit, before I slipped upstairs and gave the signal. As casually as I could (and I usually do casual really well, but I'll admit I was full of nervous anticipation) I strolled back down to the bar and stood next to her.

"Happy name day, Hawke," I said.

She leaned down and kissed my cheek, which gave me an excellent view of her bodice. What? Just because I'm a dwarf doesn't mean I'm made of stone.

"Thank you, Varric," she said. "I don't suppose…"

"Sorry, Hawke. Rivaini hasn't shown up," I told her. "But someone else did." I gestured to the stairs where Hawke's sister was descending, flanked by Sebastian and Knight Captain Cullen.

For a moment Hawke froze, the expression on her face unreadable. But it was only a moment before Hawke (I think she invented the phrase dramatic effect) used that trick with her fancy boots and was embracing her sister before the rest of us could blink twice. Bethany let out a startled little cry when Hawke suddenly appeared before her, but then the two of them were laughing and crying together. Everything I'd been through in the past month to make this happened was in that moment made worth it.

I couldn't have done it without choirboy and Cullen, that's for sure. Cullen isn't a bad sort for a Templar, but his presence had Anders scowling into his pint for most of the night. I think Blondie has taken up the task of brooding since the elf has put it down. At least Fenris doesn't brood when he's around Hawke – much.

It was funny watching Hawke as she tried to keep one hand on Sunshine and the other on her elf. But pretty soon the pints were flowing and the party ramped up into full gear, and Hawke relaxed, her cheeks glowing and her eyes lit up like a lantern. Also funny was the scowling levels of both the elf and choirboy whenever those Hawke sisters danced with someone other than themselves. That set the wheels in my mind turning. When had the _Chantry Brother _had the opportunity to be smitten by a Hawke? Not that I blamed him. Sunshine lived up to her name, and would have been the bell of the ball if not for the competition from her sister.

Oh, I don't want to forget this – Aveline had brought her own paramour, and I actually caught them necking in my rooms when I went up to retrieve a bottle of Antivan brandy I'd been saving for the occasion.

"Varric," she said sternly after I cleared my throat rather loudly.

"Guard Captain." The grin on my face seemed to infuriate her even further.

"You will not write this down," she ordered.

Donnic's face was flaming red and he wouldn't meet my eyes.

"Of course not," I said, lying through my teeth.

She shook her head and scowled. "Excuse us," she said stiffly and pulled Donnic along behind her as they left the room.

Priceless stuff.

Poor Merril looked lost most of the evening without Isabela there to pull her out of her shell.

"Come on, Daisy," I said when the sad look on her face started making my heart hurt, "It's a party – you know, dancing, laughing, fun…"

"It's alright, Varric," she said. "It's not your fault. I've never been very good at any of those things."

I swear Hawke must have some sort of built-in homing device for people who need her, because she next thing I know she grabbed Merrill by the hand and pulled her onto the dance floor. "Up you go, Merrill," she said, laughing. "It's my name day and I want a dance with my favorite Dalish elf."

Merrill didn't resist, but said, "I didn't know you knew other Dalish, Hawke. Well, other than the Keeper." She smiled shyly. "It's still nice to be your favorite, though."

And although Merrill seemed to have two left feet, Hawke had her dancing and spinning around until her cheeks were glowing and that sad smile was gone from her face.

Is there anything Hawke can't do?

It wasn't long after that dance that I heard the strangest thing, and I turned my head so fast I almost gave myself a crick in my neck. It sounded like Fenris laughing. Laughing really loud. From his belly. Andraste's ass, I thought maybe I'd had a few too many pints, which has never happened to me before.

The sight I saw when I turned around was of Hawke, her hand on the elf's cheek, smiling up at him for all she was worth. He was laughing so hard that I expected to see tears streaming down his face any minute. Sunshine and Choirboy were laughing, too – but it was the elf that had apparently lost his shit over whatever Hawke had said.

"Ooo," Merrill said from behind me. "You don't think his face will crack, do you?'

"You never know, Daisy," I told her. "You keep an eye on him and let me know if it does – I wouldn't want to miss that."

I never did find out what made him laugh so hard, but it doesn't really matter. After that, I half expected Hawke to pull a dragon out of her ass or something. That woman can work miracles.

* * *

He knelt in the pew in the wee hours of the morning, praying for guidance. His faith was firm, unshakable, but the path before him was shrouded in mist – he could not see a way forward. The Chantry had been his solace for so long, had made him into the man he now was. To forsake his vows seemed the worst kind of sin against the Maker. Yet the love that was now growing in his heart did not feel like a sin. It felt like the best part of him was finally coming alive.

The situation could not be more complicated. He, a Brother in the Chantry, the only heir to a royal house teetering on the brink of ruin. She, a Circle Mage, locked in the Gallows prison, caught in a trap not of her own making.

How could there possibly be a way to be with her? To build a life together? He could not see it, and yet his heart continued to insist it must be so.

If only the Maker would answer him – show him the right path.

Sebastian thought back to the evening, to Hawke's name day party. He had been unable to take his eyes off of Bethany. He'd hung on her every word, watched her lips with a need that had felt close to desperation. And, Maker help him, when the opportunity had come, he had taken it. They'd been sitting in the back of the small boat on their way back to the Gallows and Knight Captain Cullen had been busy conversing with the boatman. Bethany's quiet words had been filled with gratitude for his help. She'd been expressing how much it meant to her to spend the evening with her sister, when suddenly he'd felt his control snap. His lips had captured hers, and the taste of her… _Maker,_ it was like cream and honey. Her shy response had nearly driven him over the edge. If they had been truly alone…

All too soon the bump of the boat against the docks had them pulling apart, their gazes locked, and in that moment he knew that his choice had been made. Yet still, he could not see a way forward short of breaking her out of the Gallows and running off with her to Starkhaven – a deed of enough import to start a war.

He would make her an apostate again? That went against everything he'd thought he believed in, yet the impulse was there – the desire was there – the overwhelming need was there.

Sebastian stayed kneeling long into the night. He kneeled until his back ached and his legs were numb. When the morning came and the Chantry began to stir, he finally rose, and although his heart was sure in its purpose, his mind was in torment. He must speak with someone, and although by rights he knew that someone should be the Grand Cleric, his feet took him into Hightown, to the only person he knew who would truly understand.

Hawke.

* * *

She was eating breakfast when Bodahn announced Sebastian.

"I am sorry to interrupt your meal Hawke," the prince said.

"Join me, Sebastian," she told him as she gestured to the chair across from her.

He bowed slightly, "Thank you," he said and sat down.

He looked exhausted; there were dark circles under his eyes and his face was pale and drawn.

"What troubles you, Sebastian?" she asked.

"You must know," he began and ducked his head, "it must be obvious what troubles me."

Hawke thought back to the previous evening, to the undeniable chemistry between her sister and the prince. "Perhaps I do," she said. "In truth I feel somewhat responsible for your plight. I encouraged your friendship with my sister, but it seems it has grown into something more."

Sebastian shook his head. "No, do not blame yourself. I alone am culpable for my feelings."

Hawke looked at him with some sympathy. She knew what it was like to care for someone when the odds seemed against you. She also knew her sister, and what a rare treasure Bethany was. "You are a man torn in two," she said. "And I'm afraid my sister is feeling the same."

"Is she?" Sebastian asked, and there was both hope and sorrow in his voice. "I would not wish this torment on her."

Hawke was never one to dance around an issue, and so she said, "When love comes to you, there is no denying it." She reached across the table and took his hand. "There is no greater force in all of Thedas."

Sebastian grasped her hand tightly. "Stronger than the will of the Maker?" he asked. "How can that be?"

"Sebastian," Hawke said softly. "How do you know that this isn't the will of the Maker? We do not always choose our fate, we only can choose how we meet it."

"I have thought perhaps this was a test of faith," he replied. "If it is I am failing it miserably."

"Are you?" Hawke said with a slight shake of her head. "You judge yourself too harshly."

"Or not harshly enough," he countered. "There is no right path, Hawke. Each way I would turn is fraught with peril."

Hawke knew exactly how that felt and she smiled at the prince. "True heart, Sebastian," she said.

"Pardon me?"

"True heart," she repeated. "You can only stay true to yourself and walk the path before you, even though you do not see where it leads."

Sebastian looked at her with consideration. "Is that what you have done, Hawke?" he asked.

She nodded. "I know no other way."

* * *

Bethany was curled in her narrow bed, unable to sleep; her mind a prison for her thoughts as surely as the Gallows was for her body. There was no one for her to talk to – to confide in. It wasn't as if she had no friends, she had become close to several of the mages in the Circle, especially sweet little Ella. The nature of her current thoughts, however, were too dangerous to share with anyone except Mari. Even though her sister was just across the water in Hightown, she may as well have been on the moon when it came to Bethany's ability to talk to her.

It was a small miracle she had been permitted to attend Mari's name day party a few weeks ago, but there had been no time for private conversation. Knight Captain Cullen was a decent and honorable man, especially for a Templar, but he'd stuck to her like glue the entire evening. Funny how just when she'd adjusted to life in the Gallows, she wanted her freedom more than she ever had since Cullen had first brought her to the Circle.

A pair of bright blue eyes took center stage in her mind. Serious, thoughtful eyes the color of a summer sky after a storm.

Sebastian.

The Maker certainly had a cruel sense of humor. Bethany almost giggled as she thought of the irony. She had been kissed by a prince – a prince! And she a poor, Ferelden apostate refugee! But as she remembered that kiss, the way his mouth had claimed hers so possessively, his tongue bathing her lips, sliding between her teeth until she had responded to him. _Maker_. He had not touched her, had not even lifted his hands from where they gripped the bench seat of the boat. Yet when the low moan of need had escaped his throat, she had surrendered into him as surely as if his hands had been touching her – touching her in all the places she'd never been touched in a lifetime. Places that had burst into full, verdant life from one brief kiss.

Even thinking of it had her squirming in her bed.

Despite the power of it, it had been all too brief, and now she knew not if she'd ever know that pleasure again. Their parting had been formal, almost awkward, but that last glance over his shoulder as he'd walked away had been filled with a fire that burned past her last reserves and set her heart alight.

Perhaps this was love.

She had no knowledge, no experience to guide her in matters of the heart, but she thought perhaps hers now belonged to Sebastian.

She desperately wanted to talk to her sister.

* * *

Hawke tossed and turned, the covers tangled around her legs. She could not sleep and she blamed Fenris. Although he did not come to her every night, he'd done so often enough that she'd become accustomed to his strong arms around her, his warm, steady breath dancing along the skin of her neck and, well, other things.

She sat up and punched her pillow, trying to get comfortable without him.

On the nights that he did come to her, it was often _only_ to sleep. More than often. Way too often. But other than once or twice (okay maybe three times) she not asked anything more of him than his presence in her bed, his body wrapped around hers, the steady beat of his heart against her skin.

Hawke sighed and rolled over onto her back. Perhaps she should give up trying to sleep and go down to the library and read. This was ridiculous.

The floor was cold on her bare feet as she padded down the steps. Bodahn had already retired for the evening, so even if Fenris had come, how would he have gained entrance? He would not accept the key she'd try to give him. _Stubborn elf._

On impulse her feet carried her to the door. She undid the locks and pulled it open, and a blast of cold air hit her, making her shiver. There he was, leaning against the wall.

"Fenris!" she exclaimed. "What are you doing?"

He pushed away from the cold stone and said, "I could not sleep."

"That's it," Hawke said. "You're taking the key if I have to glue it to your hand." She grasped his arm and pulled him inside. And then pulled him into her arms for a brief kiss. She wasn't finished pulling at her stubborn elf until she had him in her bed.

They were both shivering by the time they were curled under the blankets, and Hawke began to laugh.

"We're quite the pair," she said.

"Why did you come to the door?" he asked.

"I was looking for you, of course," she said teasingly. "Wow, your feet are _cold_."

"I apologize," he said and began to move them away from her.

"Oh no you don't," she said with a wicked grin. "Let's get you warm."

They spent quite a long time heating each other up, and afterward? They both slept very well indeed.


	24. Chapter 23

The harbor seemed alight with fire as the morning sun rose over the great cliffs that flanked the narrow passage into Kirkwall's harbor. A ship had recently arrived at the docks, and the laborers were busy unloading crates down the long plank that straddled the water. The rank smell of fish nearly gagged him as Fenris sidestepped a group of men carrying a large crate that was decorated in the orange and gold of the Orlesian Port Authority.

He made his way through the throng, a letter clutched tightly in his hand. It was the second such letter he had sent, written in his careful scrawl, in an attempt to convince his sister to come to Kirkwall. So far she had demurred, with excuses ranging from disbelief of their actual kinship, to the lack of coin to make such a journey. He could do nothing to prove the first, but this letter would make the latter irrelevant. He would pay her passage if she would come.

He thought about what it would mean to his life if he were able to reclaim some portion of his past. Perhaps it was the most important part – his family. Uppermost in those thoughts was Hawke and his constant struggle to meet her on her own ground - that of a free man instead of as a former slave. It was a constant struggle. There were still many times when it was all he could do to keep from running from the feelings she stirred within him. _Feelings_ - such a mild word for the raging torrent of emotions that threatened his very sanity.

Since that night a few months ago when she'd forced the key to her estate upon him, he'd hardly been able to stay away. She'd told him him she could not bear the thought of him standing alone outside in the cold and he had accepted the key for her sake, though it still made him uneasy. He knew the danger of allowing their lives to become intertwined to such a degree, but he could not seem to help himself. He used that key more often than he should, unable to deny himself the feel of her in his arms, the taste of her on his tongue or the sound of her delighted laugh when he pleased her. Yet he paid the price for that pleasure in pain and in torment. His only hope was that he could keep Hawke from paying it, too.

He took care of the business of posting the letter and escaped the sensory overload of a busy morning on the docks as quickly as he could. He had been up most of the night composing it, and had not gone to Hawke. Now he felt the draw of her pulling him to her, almost as if he could hear her calling his name. She would be breaking her fast at this hour, and if he hurried, perhaps he could join her.

* * *

Isabela sat in the darkened bar, nursing a jigger of whiskey. She'd been nearly a year away from Kirkwall, and now she was as near again as Ostwick, though she could not find it within herself to make the final leg of the journey home.

_Home_. Was it home? She'd never considered anyplace home since leaving Rivain as such a young age. She didn't know. Her feelings confused her.

She did know, however, that she did not want to face Hawke until she could make up for what she had done; make up for how she had betrayed her only true friend. No matter that she'd brought back the stinking relic. It was Hawke who had saved the day – saved the city. _Champion of Kirkwall_. Why would someone like that want anything to do with a dirty, rotten pirate? If the situations were reversed, she would not.

But she missed Hawke – missed all of them. And though she'd managed to stay one step ahead of Castillon so far, she knew his reach was long and he would find her eventually. _Bugger it all_, what was she to do?

It was then she noticed the very tall, very handsome man with the two very sharp looking daggers strapped to his back, watching her from where he sat at the bar, his shaggy mane of ebony hair hanging over one eye. And she thought to herself that if she could not solve her problems, at least she could distract herself from them.

Isabela swaggered over to the man, who watched her carefully, with appreciation apparent in his eyes. _Well this could be fun_, she thought.

* * *

Isabela lay replete, enjoying the sensation as her temporary lover twirled a finger around her naval. "So where are you off to next, my dark beauty?" he asked.

"An odd question," Isabela turned to him and began a few explorations of her own. "Why would you think I'd be leaving?"

"Hmm," he murmured in appreciation of the work of her nimble fingers. "I have lived in Ostwick all my life, and have watched you come and go from my city many times over the years."

"And you never _introduced_ yourself before?" She smiled at him wickedly. "Such a pity."

He laughed. "I still haven't introduced myself."

"That's true," she purred. "What _is_ your name?"

"I am called Pardus," he said. "And you still haven't answered my question."

"I haven't decided," she told him with a frown. "Perhaps Kirkwall."

"A dangerous place these days," Pardus said. "Though perhaps now that the city has a Champion…"

"What do you know of this Champion?" asked Isabela teasingly. She was stockpiling stories for Hawke. If, that is, she ever actually saw her again.

"That she is as beautiful as she is deadly and as wise as she is kind." He laughed. "That no one can match her tongue in wit or her blades in skill." Pardus paused thoughtfully. "They say that she killed the Qunari Arishok in single combat, but I do not know how that could be true."

Isabela sighed. It was all true, but she would not say so to this man she barely knew. "Maybe I _will_ go to Kirkwall and see if what you have heard is accurate."

"I doubt that it is," he said lazily, "but you better hurry. I've heard the Crows have a contract out on her."

Isabela bolted upright. "What?" she exclaimed.

Pardus grunted as Isabela elbowed his stomach in her haste to get out of bed.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

Isabela was dressing in record speed. "To Kirkwall, you ass." She sat on the bed and began strapping her boots. "The Champion of Kirkwall is the best friend I've ever had."

* * *

_My Dearest Sister,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. I hope it finds you at all, as the Knight Commander has taken to randomly confiscating all correspondence leaving the Gallows. I have given this missive to Cullen in hope that it will make its way to you._

_I do not wish to alarm you, but I am distressed and there is no one here I can safely speak with. Do not worry, I am well enough, but there is a new development with the Templars. Knight Commander Meredith has ordered that all Circle Mages must be present for every single Harrowing Ritual. This week alone I have been forced to watch as three mages have been made tranquil. One, a lad named Barth, was my student when he first came to the Gallows. He was a fine mage who was especially skilled in the healing arts. I knew of no reason for the Templars to perform the ritual that stripped him of his soul. We were told he'd had contact with Blood Mages, but I cannot believe this was true. Barth was such a kind and gentle person._

_It is dangerous for me to say so, but I fear Meredith is losing her mind. There is nothing in her outward appearance that would suggest such a thing, but her decisions of late, her orders, seem to border on irrational lunacy. We are all very frightened, not knowing what she will do next._

_Orsino seems to hold no sway with her. In fact, the Knight Commander has taken away many of the First Enchanter's former privileges. We have no one to protect us. I take a great risk revealing these things to you. Please burn this letter after you have read it._

_The only solace I have is you, my sister. Knowing you will protect me as best you can keeps me from panic, because I have no ability to protect myself. Your status as Champion keeps much unwanted attention away from me, yet I fear for my many friends here._

_But enough of my worries and woes. How are you fairing? How is Fenris? Have you convinced him to move into the estate yet? I wish he would. I so worry about you there alone. And Sebastian? I will not pretend that you have no understanding of my meaning. I have not seen him since the night of your party, and I would have word of him if you can get it to me._

_I do hope you will soon be granted permission for a visit. More than anything I want to see your dear face. There is so much I would say to you given the chance._

_Yours with much love,_

_Bethany_

* * *

Hawke set the letter down next to her plate of half-eaten breakfast, her appetite suddenly gone. She had already made a request to visit Bethany in the Gallows, and that request had gone unanswered for nearly two weeks. It took every bit of her self-restraint to prevent herself from marching to the Gallows right that minute and demanding to see her sister. Or, to start throwing the dishes against the wall. She restrained herself from that, too. She was so busy restraining herself that she did not notice Fenris until he was practically standing next to her chair.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

Hawke rose from her seat, grabbed Bethany's letter and thrust it at him. "This," she said. "This is wrong." She continued to restrain herself while she waited for Fenris to read the letter.

When he was finished he handed it back to her and looked at her with some concern. "Disturbing news," he said.

"That's putting it mildly," Hawke bit off. She didn't mean to take her anger out on Fenris, but this restraining thing was wearing thin.

Then Fenris said, "And yet your sister is still safer in the Circle where she can be kept safe from her magic."

_That_ broke her restraint. She pulled back her hand and slapped him. Hard.

Fenris lifted a hand to his cheek and looked at her in shocked anger. "Watch how you step, Hawke," he growled.

Was the lyrium under his flesh beginning to glow? It didn't matter. She did not care. "How can you say that?" Her voice rose in volume and in octave. "Bethany is no danger to anyone!"

"Bethany is not weak." His voice was carefully controlled. "But no mage is immune to temptation."

"She is Malcolm Hawke's daughter," Hawke said emphatically. "She is well-trained and in no danger of possession."

"I fear your feelings for Bethany blind you, Hawke." His anger was still very near the surface. "I have seen all too clearly what mages are capable of."

Hawke laughed incredulously. "My feelings blind me," she repeated, ignoring the second part of his statement and shaking her head. "Are you mad? My _feelings_, my _love_ for my sister, do not blind me. I must be completely aware of every detail, see every subtlety and nuance if I am to protect those I love." She looked at him intently, willing him to understand. "Surely you can see that, Fenris."

"You know what I have seen and what has been done to me by magic," he replied. "You yourself can see the results." He held up his lyrium-laced arm.

Hawke stared down at his arm and was torn. Torn between her absolute conviction, her unwavering belief in her sister, and the evidence before her of how the use of magic was too often abused by the worst sort of people. Even after all these years she could not begin to imagine the torture the he had endured. She lifted her hand and lightly traced the lines of lyrium on his forearm with her fingertips and saw Fenris' expression soften with her touch. She glanced up and saw the angry imprint of her hand on his cheek and felt ashamed.

"Forgive me," she said. She did not want this between them, but there it was. She must be loyal to her sister and her love at once, even though the two viewpoints were impossible to reconcile.

"You are upset. I understand why, even if I do not agree," he said calmly.

Too calmly for Hawke's still jangled nerves. "If I don't do something, I think I'm going to explode," she said with a nervous laugh that she hardly recognized as her own. "I'm so afraid for Bethany. So angry at what's being done in the name of _protection_."

Fenris stood very still, watching her closely. "Will you allow me to help you?" he asked.

"Help me?" she asked in return, unsure of the way he was now looking at her.

"Yes," he growled.

That growl shivered down her spine. _Oh_ she thought, _help her_. "After I…" she could not finish, but pressed her fingers against his cheek where her handprint was fading.

In answer Fenris took hold of her hand and pressed a lingering kiss to her palm. He then trailed his tongue up the length of her arm until the sleeve of her robe stopped him. He looked up at her questioningly.

She had barely nodded when he moved so quickly it made her dizzy. She was lifted into his arm and they were halfway up the stairway before she knew what had happened. Seconds later she was on her bed watching him pull of his armor with the same rapid speed. When he came to her there was no hesitation, no recriminations – only a flurry of lips and tongue and hands that had her racing to keep up with him. _What is this?_ she thought. But soon enough, she did not care, so distracted was she by _where_ his lips and tongue and hands were busy on her flesh. And soon after that, she was lost in waves of pleasure so intense she could not have formed a single thought even if she'd wanted to.

A long time later, when she could finally speak again, she said, "Remind me to slap you more often."

He did that growling/chuckling thing. "I wouldn't suggest it." He kissed her tenderly. "The results might not be the same."

"Worth the risk," she said in a mock-serious tone. And although her heart remained troubled by her sister's plight, she allowed herself to be pulled into his arms – arms that were covered in lyrium tattoos carved into his flesh by a mage. She sighed. Even Bethany referred to her magic as a curse. Then she remembered Quentin, another mage, and what he'd done to her mother. She shivered.

"Are you cold?" he asked, pulling her more closely to him.

"Only in my heart," she whispered.

* * *

Isabela had been following every move Hawke made for over a week. A lot of the moves Hawke made had something to do with Fenris, which was no surprise. All that stuff about deadly beauty might be true about Hawke, but no one could match Isabela when it came to sneaking around. So far she had even been able to avoid the many prying eyes of Varric's spy network.

She was perched on a rooftop above the Hightown Market watching as Hawke, Fenris, Varric and Merrill entered the square from the direction of Hawke's estate. From what she'd overheard it was something to do with nobles, which made no sense. Who would meet nobles at night in the market? When she saw a slight movement out of the corner of her eye, she made her way to the adjoining roof searching for what she'd seen. Peering over the edge, she saw an elf watching her former companions. She was petite with red hair and ears that were long even for an elf, and she squatted with a throwing knife held poised in one hand. She really was very cute. But if she threw that knife at Hawke, she was going to be cute and dead.

There was a scuffle below and suddenly the market was filled with Crows. A man's voice boomed out, "And there is the Champion of Kirkwall. You die today."

Before she had time to react, Isabela watched the elf throw her knife. Her heart started beating again when in sank into the shoulder of the Crow who'd threatened Hawke. Reserving judgment for a later time when there were not dozens of Antivan Crows attempting to kill her friends, Isabela joined the stranger in the fight.

When all the Crows were dead, Isabela started to slink off into the shadows and to the stairs leading to Lowtown, but in the blink of an eye, there was Hawke blocking her way. _Stupid fancy boot trick, _she thought.

"Oh no you don't," Hawke said, and Maker if Isabela didn't see the wet sheen of tears in her eyes. Isabela was pulled into a hug that had her gasping for breath, followed by a kiss that did the same.

From behind her she heard the stranger say, "Well, if that's how you greet your friends, Serah Hawke, I want to be one, too."

When Isabela heard Fenris' low growl, she began to laugh. Some things never changed.

* * *

**FROM THE JOURNAL OF VARRIC TETHRAS**

Poor Edge is dead. He was a pretty good guy, too – but when you get mixed up with the Crows you're probably going to end that way. Unless you're Hawke, that is.

So, Rivaini showed back up just at the height of all the excitement. Well, if you consider an ambush excitement. She's got a great sense of dramatic timing, I'll give her that. Turns out she got wind of the contract out on Hawke and got her ass back to Kirkwall in a hurry. About time, I'd say. There was this Lord (Friedrich I think his name was) that Hawke killed when she first went to work for the Red Iron. Turns out his family were none too happy about it and hired the Crows. Guess that didn't work out for them, heh.

If Rivaini ever had any doubts about Hawke forgiving her, I think they're pretty well laid to rest. You should have seen her face when Hawke kissed her. Come to think of it, you should have seen the elf's face. I didn't know where to look.

I know it's hard to believe, but it got even weirder after that. Listen to this, we met a Qunari elf. I'm not shitting you. Pretty little thing name of Tallis and she's some kind of Qunari assassin. I told you it was hard to believe. Somehow, and I seriously don't know how she did it, she convinced Hawke to help her steal some jewel, which turned out to be a load of crap, the jewel was just a ruse.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

After that remark about how Hawke greets her friends, things got a little flirty between our fearless leader and Tallis. She even stayed in Hawke's estate for the few days it took us to get ready for the trip. Needless to say the elf wasn't happy with that situation and his brooding resumed quite spectacularly. It was good for a few chuckles, anyway. But, and I have this on good authority, the day before we left, Hawke was over at Fenris' mansion for most of the night. After that he still scowled at Tallis a lot, but things between he and Hawke went back to normal. Well, normal for them, anyway - they sure snuck off together a lot on the trip. Oh, yes the trip out to the Vimmark Mountains, again, but this time to Chateau Haine. It's lush and beautiful and full of wyvern.

The whole reason Tallis involved Hawke was that Duke Prosper had invited her out to his annual wyvern hunt. The little Qunari elf wanted in on that action as an excuse to steal the jewel, or so she told Hawke.

I've mentioned a time or two how strange Hawke's life is, so you won't be surprised when I tell you who was already at Chateau Haine when we arrived there. Or maybe you will, it's hard to say, so I'll just tell you. It was Bethany. Seems like this Duke was all hot to have an Amell attend his annual gig and Hawke hadn't responded. So Prosper requested Lady Bethany Amell Hawke, and to keep the peace with Orlais, the Knight Commander agreed to allow Sunshine to go. Supposedly there were Templars somewhere around guarding her, but I never saw them.

That was quite the reunion. Lots of tears and laughter and hugging and kissing between the sisters. Eventually Sunshine got around to asking about Choirboy, but none of us had seen him in weeks and weeks. I heard Hawke tell her that the Grand Cleric said he'd left on an extended trip, but that's all she knew. Poor Sunshine looked devastated at that news.

So there was a lot of rigmarole and we killed this giant wyvern. Andraste's ass, I hope I never see one of those again. Well, actually I did see another one later that same trip, but I'm hoping that was the last time for me.

Next came the part where Tallis and Hawke went off by themselves to break into the castle. That didn't make any of us happy, but Fenris looked like he was about to start ripping out some organs. I hadn't seen him look like that in quite awhile. It turned out to be all a set-up by the Duke (isn't everything a set-up, really?). He was trading Qunari secrets with the Tal'Vashoth, and Hawke and Tallis ended up in the dungeons. I thought the elf was going to lose his mind when we couldn't find her. Maker those dungeons were confusing. We eventually fought our way out only to end up fighting the Tal'Vashoth, too. To this day I don't know if I trust that cute little elf, but she is one heck of a fighter.

In the end the Duke and his pet wyvern (that was the other one I saw) fell off a cliff (only after he tried to kill us all). Tallis got what she wanted (whatever that was, I was never really sure) and Hawke got some fancy jewel. Fenris got all of Hawke's attention back to himself, and the sisters got some quality time together on the trip back. What did I get? A story, of course. It's always about the story.

The best part for me was that Rivaini was still in Kirkwall when we got back, leaning against the bar nursing a pint, just like the old days. I sure did miss her while she was gone. Now maybe we can finish writing _Hard in Hightown: Siege Harder_.


	25. Chapter 24

Hawke was feeling a little bit guilty. Lately, for some reason she couldn't quite understand, she'd been doing a lot of things that upset Fenris. It had all started with that slap when he'd made the comment about Bethany being safer in the Circle. She had been very upset, but slapping Fenris? She couldn't have imagined doing that in her wildest dreams. Then she'd been so happy to see Isabela, Hawke had given her an Isabela-worthy kiss and heard the way Fenris had growled from behind her. She should have stuck to just the hug. To top it all off she'd found herself unabashedly flirting with Tallis. Not because she was _interested_ in her, but because it was _fun_. She supposed it might have something to do with how much Tallis liked to tease and flirt and how little fun Hawke had been having lately. Everything was all serious all of the time.

She sank into a chair and rubbed at her temples.

Whenever Hawke was feeling worried or scared or, as in this case – guilty – she felt an overwhelming need to DO SOMETHING. Right now she was feeling like she wanted to do something for Fenris to make up for her perceived ill treatment of him. She'd been trying to make it up to him for weeks, and he'd responded to her attempts quite receptively. It just didn't feel like enough. She wanted to tip the scales in her favor again – do something so good it would forever erase her missteps in his eyes.

Short of handing him Danarius' head on a platter, she was having trouble thinking of anything. If the situation were different, she'd probably just wrap herself up in ribbons (and only ribbons) and offer herself to him as a present. But at least half of the time when they made love he paid too dearly for their pleasure, and she didn't want to cause him more pain. She'd done enough of that already, and he'd endured way too much on her behalf.

Material things mattered not at all to him, and cooking him a good meal seemed to prosaic – too overly _nice_. She rose from her chair and stood by the fireplace, resting her hands on the mantelpiece.

What to offer a man who had nothing and wanted nothing but to reclaim his past and free himself from the lingering bonds of slavery? She had neither of those things to offer. She only had her own heart, which she'd already given to him in all the ways she knew how. Perhaps that was the problem. Despite his kindness and attention - his care of her, and the heart-stopping way he made love to her, there remained a barrier. She had so much more of herself left to give him, the depth of her heart had barely been tapped. Now it was spilling over into other places because he could not receive it.

The insight when it came felt unquestionably true. She must pull herself together and focus her energy in ways that would not hurt Fenris.

Unbidden, thoughts of her mother came to mind. Her mother's voice whispering in her ear: _Don't you think about marriage? Children? Having your own family?_

At the time she had dismissed her mother's words as projections – things Leandra had wanted for her daughter, not things Hawke wanted for herself. Yet she was of an age where most women were doing those exact things. Perhaps it mattered to her more than she thought? Perhaps the nature of her life had made those things seem impossible, so she did not even consider if she wanted them or not? Not since Ren had she entertained those possibilities. Now here she was, so very much in love, so very committed to her love and yet the natural progression of their relationship could not unfold.

Well, who would have ever thought such a thing? Mari Hawke, pining after marriage and babies? No one who knew her would ever believe it. She didn't know if she actually believed it herself, it was such a new idea, such a different way of thinking. She placed a hand over the flat plane of her abdomen, remembering a silly comment Fenris had made to Tallis when she'd mentioned that wyverns breed quickly. _Elves, too. We're plucky that way._

She'd been taking precautions, of course. She would continue to take precautions, because the situation of their lives was no place in which to welcome a child. But if… if their lives were different… would she? Would she want to have his child?

The way her heart began to pound in her chest, she thought either she was scared shitless or the answer was yes. Perhaps both.

And that's when she knew what she would do for him. She would not give up. She would hold on until the day when these greater things might become possible. She would pour her love into the idea of their future together and hope that would be enough.

It was a silent gift that he would not know of, but it was a gift nonetheless – the best one she could give to him.

* * *

Restless and uneasy, Fenris made his way to Hawke's estate. He knew he should not. Being near her, being with her, carried just as much potential for panic as for peace. He never knew which one it would be – he only knew he could not stay away.

When Bodahn showed him into the library, Hawke was standing in front of the fire, one hand resting on the mantelpiece, the other laid flat against her belly. He had never seen her do that before, and for some reason it made his heart flutter and his stomach jump.

"Does your stomach pain you?" he asked.

She looked up, startled. "Fenris, I didn't hear you come in."

"Perhaps the pain in your stomach preoccupied you," he suggested.

"What?" she asked. "Oh no, my stomach doesn't hurt." Hawke smiled at him and his heart fluttered again.

He wanted to ask her why she'd had her hand pressed to her stomach if it did not hurt, but thought better of it. Instead he said, "I found a last bottle of Aggregio. It was hidden under a crate in the basement." He held the bottle up for her to inspect.

"Hmm," she murmured as he approached her. "Came to get me drunk, did you?"

"If you wish it," he replied, his voice a low rumble.

She lifted a hand and brushed his hair from his eyes before letting her fingers trail down his cheek and across his lips. "That sounds lovely," she said.

He set the bottle on an end table and lifted both of his hands to her face. He cupped her cheeks and leaned in close to her. "Or we could skip the wine," he said and brushed her lips with his.

"Fenris," she said, "are you sure?"

He smiled then, and it was bittersweet. "Do not worry over me," he said.

"How can I not? It's like a coin toss whether you will…"

He silenced her by pressing his mouth fully to hers. She stiffened slightly for only a second before she relaxed into the kiss and her clever fingers began to undo the straps of his armor. He pondered that she'd recently become better at removing his armor than he was himself. With the pointy bits gone, Hawke wound herself around him and melted so sweetly into him that he could not stop the low groan of need that escaped him. No cost was ever too great for this. To feel her this way, holding nothing back, offering him everything – he did not care what came later.

Eventually they made their way up to her bedroom, and he took his time undressing her, savoring her soft skin as he slowing pealed the interfering clothes away. He remembered how Hawke's hand had been pressed to her stomach, and without thinking he pressed his own there in the same way. She drew in a quick breath and he looked up into her wide eyes.

"Fenris?"

"Yes?" What did she want? When she didn't answer he rubbed her belly in slow circles. Her skin under his hand was the softest thing he'd ever felt and he wanted to press his lips there as well. He knelt before her to do just that, and when he kissed her just below her naval Hawke started to tremble. He stopped and looked up at her. "Hawke?"

"It's fine," she said, but her lips were trembling, too. What was happening to her? Perhaps she was cold.

He stood and took a blanket from the bed, wrapped it around her and lifted her into his arms. "Is that better?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, and her smile was so beautiful it made his heart hurt.

He laid her on the bed and then slid in next to her, wrapping the blankets around them both. He resumed his explorations, making sure Hawke remained covered. Still she trembled, but as she did not protest, he continued to make very thorough love to her for a very long time. When eventually he took her over the edge and she cried his name, the last of his restlessness vanished – the residue of uneasiness slipped away. They fell asleep wrapped tightly around each other and no old memories, no panic or pain, disturbed their slumber.

* * *

"Merrill, what are you doing?" Hawke asked.

"I'm discarding," she replied. "It is my turn, isn't it?"

Hawke covered the discarded serpent with her hand. "Yes, but…"

"Let her be," said Isabela with a wicked little grin. She tried to snag the card from under Hawke's palm.

"Why do you keep throwing away serpents when you know Isabela is collecting them?" she asked while battling Isabela for the card.

"Oh, I don't like them," replied Merrill. "Serpents are so slithery and slimy."

Isabela laughed heartily as she finally slipped the card away from Hawke. She fanned her hand on the table. "Four serpents," she said. "I win!" and she scooped up the small pile of coin from the center of the table.

Hawke made one last attempt. "They're only pictures, Merrill."

"I know that, Hawke," Merrill replied with a look that seemed to question Hawke's reason. "But they make me queasy just the same."

Isabela laughed again and began to shuffle the cards. They flew through her deft fingers in loops and arcs. "Another round," she called to Norah as the barmaid passed by their table. "So," Isabela said as she began dealing the cards, "I've heard a rumor that might interest you, Hawke."

"Do tell," Hawke said feigning disinterest. She was still somewhat miffed by Isabela's easy win of the last hand.

"Untwist your knickers, sweet thing," Isabela said. "It's not my fault that Merrill doesn't like slimy things."

"I'm not very fond of pointy things, either," piped in Merrill.

They both looked at her.

"In case you were wondering…" she added, ducking her head.

"Don't worry yourself, kitten," said Isabela. "Hawke and I will protect you from all the pointy, slimy things."

"What?" exclaimed Merrill. "There are things that are pointy _and_ slimy?" The look on her small face was pure revulsion.

Hawke opened her mouth to explain, but quickly thought better of it. Instead she turned to Isabela and said, "So what's the rumor?"

Isabela glanced around the bar before leaning in close to Hawke. "I heard that a certain prince is stirring up trouble in his ancestral homeland."

Hawke's stomach did a little flip. "Sebastian?" she whispered.

"None other," replied Isabela smugly.

"But I thought… what about the Chantry?" she asked.

Isabela shrugged. "I always thought he was a bit too squeaky clean. That sort is usually hiding something."

"Where did you hear this?" asked Hawke.

"Here and there," replied Isabela vaguely.

"Isabela," Hawke said, her voice a warning.

"Really, Hawke. You can't expect me to give away all my secrets," she said. "Let's just say that Sebastian isn't the only Chantry Brother who isn't squeaky clean."

"You mean you…" Hawke began but found she couldn't finish.

"I never said a thing," Isabela replied with a little laugh, "but all that _repression_…"

"What is she talking about, Hawke?" asked Merrill.

"Ugh," said Hawke shaking her head. "Don't say another word, Isabela."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Isabela said with a sly little smile.

Merrill sighed. "It must be dirty then."

A blast of cooler air entered the bar as the door opened, and in walked Fenris with guardsman Donnic – the one Aveline was so enamored over. What were they doing together? And where was Aveline?

Suddenly Isabela was whispering in her ear. "You never have told me just how far those markings go."

Hawke felt her cheeks flush, but did her best to reply nonchalantly, "No, I haven't."

"Spoilsport," said Isabela with a laugh. "Maybe I'll ask him myself."

Hawke grinned. "Be my guest," she said, "but I hope you're not overly fond of your vital organs."

Fenris caught her eye and immediately moved in their direction.

"Do you have an invisible string that you pull?" asked Isabela as she watched them approach.

"My secret is out," Hawke said blithely.

"Ooo," squealed Merrill, "I want one of those! The twine Varric gave me is always getting tangled around everything."

Donnic greeted them politely, but Fenris just stood staring down at Hawke.

"Care to join in?" Isabela asked, nodding to the cards spread out on the table.

"I'm afraid Serah Fenris has already taken possession of all my coin," Donnic replied with a sheepish grin.

"I haven't seen Aveline in some time," said Hawke to Donnic. "How is the Guard Captain?"

"You can ask her yourself," replied Donnic. "She is to meet me here soon." He sat down on the bench next to Merrill.

Hawke scooted along the bench to make room for Fenris. He took the proffered seat and his hand immediately went to her thigh under the table and rested there. The unconscious gesture made her smile.

"So you're rich now," she teased, "and here sits my poor empty mug." And she pouted at him.

"Hmm," he murmured. "Do you think it wise to dull your senses with drink?"

"It depends on how the remainder of my evening unfolds," Hawke replied in a sultry voice.

"Yum," Isabela purred. "Verbal foreplay."

Before Hawke could think of a proper retort, Aveline, Anders and Varric came strolling through the bar toward their table. People rearranged themselves, and Hawke found herself tightly squeezed between Fenris and Isabela. Only Bethany and Sebastian were missing from their party, which recalled to Hawke's mind Isabela's _rumor_. Why had he returned to Starkhaven? Surely not to…

Her thoughts were interrupted as Aveline's voice rose above the din of conversation. "Donnic and I have an announcement to make," she said.

All eyes turned to her and the Guard Captain shifted uncomfortably in her seat, glancing around the table at her companions. She opened her mouth to speak several times, but could not seem to get the words out. Donnic took her hand in his and lifted it to his mouth, where he placed a lingering kiss on her palm.

"Aveline has agreed to marry me," he said, smiling at his betrothed.

The table erupted in questions and congratulations. Varric called for a bottle of wine, intent on toasting the newly engaged couple. Backs were thumped and cheeks were kissed and the look on Aveline's face was a wonderful mixture of pure happiness and abject terror. Hawke had to bite the inside of her mouth to keep from laughing at her friend's discomfort.

Wedding plans were the main topic of conversation as the wine flowed, and many toasts were made to the couple's health and happiness. Hawke thought she might be a little drunk when she began to imagine what it would be like if this little party was for her and Fenris. It seemed that ever since those thoughts had entered her head they took every opportunity to usurp her thinking altogether. She was unaware that she'd been staring at his profile for the last few minutes until he turned to her, a question in his eyes.

She never got the chance to decide what she might have said to him in that moment, because the door of the Hanged Man crashed open and before Hawke could do more than blink, a group of Crows poured into the bar. A knife came hurtling through the air and slammed into her chest. Simultaneously, she heard the crunch as the blade hit her breastbone and felt the sharp, hot pain as it tore open her flesh.

Fenris roared and was up out of his seat, his blade pulled from his back and he sliced through the crows as if they were no more than sheaves of wheat. A curtain of black was descending across Hawke's vision, when suddenly she felt herself encircled by a pair of strong arms and the blue light of a healing spell washed over her.

"Hold on, Hawke," she heard Anders say against her ear, and he pulled the blade from her chest. She stifled a scream, but the magic was already doing its work and the pain faded swiftly.

The clank and clamor of the fight was all around them. Flashes of lightning flew from the end of Merrill's staff in concert with the blue glow of Fenris swinging his sword. Her fierce warrior mowed down one Crow after another with dangerous precision. The coppery smell of blood soon filled the air, and the crimson stuff was splattered on the floor, the walls and her companions. Aveline stood before her, partially blocking her view, the Guard Captain was intent on protecting Hawke from further harm. A bolt flew only inches past her head and lodged in the throat of a Crow who had appeared behind Aveline, his daggers poised to strike her from behind. The assassin fell with a satisfying _thunk_. Bianca was singing sweetly it seemed.

Anders magic had done its work and Hawke pushed herself up to join the fray. "Thanks!" she called back to him before using her fancy boots to appear just in time to save Fenris from a back attack. The fight went on for quite a while, reinforcements poured in through the door and all the while Isabela's laughter was a sweet sound to her ears. Hawke leapt through the air and brought her blades down, twisting at the last minute so that the man dropped at her feet.

Finally the Crows were all dead, and Hawke surveyed the scene. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that all of her friends were still standing, their injuries minor.

"Who was it this time?" she asked no one in particular.

Fenris came stalking over to her and examined where the dagger had pierced her armor.

"It's fine," she told him, to which he nodded once.

Isabela approached her, carrying a note. "Daft bastards always leave evidence," she said.

Hawke unfolded the parchment, quickly scanned the missive and burst into laughter. "The family of Baron Arlange wants the stinking turnip who killed their liege-lord to die a horrible death."

Varric came over and took the parchment from her. "Andraste's ass," he said, studying the letter. "They sure didn't waste any time."

"Who's Baron Arlange?" Merrill asked, trying to peer over Varric's shoulder.

"Well, Daisy, apparently Hawke stole his wyvern from him," replied Varric. "He tried to kill her for it, but you know how that always ends up."

"Well, if Hawke stole it, she must have had a good reason." Merrill said and smiled happily. "He mustn't have been very smart, though, because Hawke _always_ wins."

"I'm sorry your celebration was ruined by another attempt on my life, Aveline," Hawke said.

"Ha!" Aveline smiled at her. "Fighting the good fight is a perfect way to end the evening."

"Eh-hem," came a voice from behind her. It was Corff, the bartender. "I'm sorry Champion," he said. "But there's a little matter of…"

Hawke waved her hand at him. "No problem, Corff," she said and dug into her coin purse. "Will this do?"

Corff accept the handful of sovereigns and said, "Yes, thank you," he said and left to arrange the cleanup.

The party split up then, each going their separate ways. Fenris was quiet as they walked with Aveline and Donnic up to Hightown. When at last they reached Hawke's estate and said their goodnights to the other couple, he pulled her into his arm.

"That knife…" he said against her throat. "You risk yourself too much."

"What would you have me do?" she asked in a saucy tone, trying to lighten his mood.

"Not get stabbed in the chest?" he suggested. He pulled back and ran his finger down the gouge in her armor.

"I'll try really hard to avoid that in the future," she told him.

"You jest, but…" He shook his head. "If Anders had not been there…"

"Growing fond of the abomination, are you?" she teased.

"No!" he said emphatically. "I would prefer your sister was with us."

"As would I," she said with a sigh, and then added. "So you do trust Bethany."

Fenris looked thoughtful for a moment before saying, "Perhaps. As much as I am capable of trusting a mage."

Hawke smiled, thinking that their recent trip to Chateau Haine had accomplished more than she thought. "I suppose that will do… for now." She took his hand and asked him, "Come in?"

He nodded and as they walked through the foyer Hawke said, "I thought you might want to check for scarring."

"I do not understand how you can continue to make light of this," he growled.

"And I do not understand why we aren't in the bathtub already," she retorted. "All of this talking…"

"The bathtub?" he asked.

"Oh yes," she replied as she tugged him along. "There's Crow blood all matted in your hair and I'm not allowing you in my bed like that."

"Well, if you put it that way," he said and followed her up the stairs.

* * *

Hawke ran lightly up the stairs to the Chantry, her heart beating fasting than it should from the easy exertion. A note from Sebastian had her up and about at such an early hour. The sun had barely risen, and the faint wisps of fog that still hovered over the stone courtyard parted at her passage. After nearly six months away, the prince was back and Hawke was all anticipation about what he would have to say for himself.

Once inside, the fog seemed to hover at the ceiling instead of along the floor. It was if she had entered a different world where the rules were the turned on their head, and perhaps they were. She'd never been entirely comfortable in the Chantry. The smoke from the incense tickled her nose and she fought back a sneeze.

There was Sebastian, sitting calmly in a pew, his lips moving in prayer, though she could not hear his voice. She did not interrupt him, but slid in next to him and silently took in his appearance. His usually neatly kept hair was overlong, curling around his neck in waves. His cheekbones stood out in sharp angles, as if he had lost weight, but his armor gleamed in the soft candlelight and he otherwise appeared healthy and fit.

"It is good to see you, Hawke," he said before long. "I'm glad you came."

"Of course I would come," Hawke said. "I've missed you."

"And I, you," he said, finally turning to her. "You look well."

His eyes, normally so serene and filled with calm certainty, were now brightly gazing at her with an intensity that, for a moment, had her speechless. She could only say, "Sebastian?"

"Perhaps you know me too well, Hawke," he said. "From the look on your face I would say you are reading my mind."

"No, but I'm wishing that I could," she replied.

"I won't mince words with you, my friend," he said. "I've been in Starkhaven these past months."

"There were rumors," Hawke said.

"Were there?" he asked rhetorically. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Even in the Chantry there are those who can not hold their tongues."

"What's going on, Sebastian?" she asked. He obviously called her here to confide in her, and she was never one to dance around an issue.

He smiled at her. "I really have missed you," he said. "These past months there were many times that I've wished for your aid, your council."

"If you had asked…" Hawke began.

He shook his head. "No, I needed to do this on my own. I couldn't risk anyone else."

"Do what exactly?" Hawke asked, feeling somewhat exasperated by his non-answers.

"I have decided to reclaim my throne," he said matter-of-factly. "This trip was a mission of reconnaissance only." He frowned before saying; "There were complications that held me longer than I expected."

Hawke didn't know what to ask first. Reclaim his throne? Complications? So instead she simply said, "Tell me."

And so he did. He'd left for Starkhaven with the goal of finding out how well entrenched his cousin Goren Vael was on the throne. At first the trip had proved successful, as he traveled undercover gathering information from the local towns and villages. Goren was not a popular ruler, and among the people themselves there was talk of rebellion against the 'Vael who was no true Vael,' as they called him. And although Sebastian had little luck in gaining the support of troupes from the other Free Marches cities, he began to think that he could rally his own people to take back his throne.

But Goren Vael, dullard though he may be, had by his side a crafty and power-hungry counselor named Jergan. Sebastian knew of him as chief among the nobles of Starkhaven who had voiced constant opposition during his father's rule. It was Jergan who discovered Sebastian's presence in the city and had him captured and thrown in the dungeons.

He'd spent several months imprisoned in the dungeons under the palace. If not for a guard who'd discovered his true identity and helped him to escape, he would be there, still.

"So you see," he said, "Although I am committed to my course, I cannot return to my homeland again without support from the other cities." He sighed heavily. "Support which I seem unable to gain because Goren has instated tax policies heavily in their favor."

Hawke had listened without interruption, but the question in her mind was not of tactics and subterfuge and enemies, but of motivation. "Why Sebastian? Why this change of heart? The last I knew you had practically begged the Grand Cleric to accept you back in the Chantry."

"Surely you must know the answer to that," he replied. "I had thought I made myself clear the last time we talked."

"Bethany," she said.

He nodded. "After much thought on the matter, the only course that seemed possible was to retake Starkhaven and have her installed in the Circle there."

"But the Circle in Starkhaven was destroyed by that blood mage, Decimus."

"It is slowly being rebuilt," he said. "And I thought your sister would make a fine Enchanter in the new Circle."

"I still don't see how that solves your other… problem," Hawke said. "Bethany would still be confined to the Circle…"

"I have no doubts that over time the people of Starkhaven would come to love and admire her. All who come to know your sister cannot help but do so. They eventually would accept her as princess, I am sure."

"Princess?" Hawke asked. "So your intentions are…"

"Completely honorable, have no fear." He paused and took Hawke's hand. "I would call you sister, Hawke."

Hawke took a moment to digest this, before asking, "Have you spoken to Bethany of this?"

Sebastian colored as he said, "Not as of yet. I had hoped to have something to offer her before I… _proposed_ this course of action."

"I see," Hawke said, stalling for time to get her thoughts in order. Bethany, Princess of Starkhaven? Hawke was surprised at how easily the picture came to her mind. Bethany dressed in regal robes, a silver circlet gracing her brow. Finally Hawke asked, "You would introduce magic into your line?"

Sebastian sat silently for long moments, his head bowed, before responding, "To my shame, I admit that in the past I would never have considered such a thing, it is true." He looked over at Hawke and the light in his eyes spoke volumes. "But love, as they say, does seem to conquer all."

Hawke swallowed hard. Too see Sebastian's feelings so apparent, so shining from his eyes as he spoke of Bethany - it was everything she hoped to see from… but no, this was not about her. She asked, "What will you do?"

"I returned to Kirkwall to find the situation here," he paused as if searching for the right word, "bordering on explosive."

Hawke nodded. The tension between Templars and Mages was heating up at an alarming rate. Her fears for her sister were always paramount in her thoughts.

Sebastian continued, "And so I will wait, and do my best to support the Grand Cleric during this difficult time." He glanced up at the bronze statue of Andraste that loomed over them. "She has done so much for me, it is the least I can do."

"And me?" Hawke asked. "What would you have of me?"

Sebastian smiled at her in such a way that Hawke felt tears sting the back of her eyes. "My loyalty to you is no less than to the Elthina," he said. "I will not desert you either, my friend." His grip on her hand tightened. "But I would have your opinion. Do I approach Bethany with my… plans, or wait until the way is clear?"

Hawke didn't have to think on this one. Her heart told her clearly what to say. "My sister is already yours in her heart, Sebastian. You only need tell her she has yours. The rest will work itself out in time."

"Thank you," he said, the relief clear on his face. "I have already applied for a visit, though the answer seems to be taking overlong."

Hawke laughed lightly. "You'll find that Meredith gives permission for visits to the Gallows only grudgingly these days. But I'm sure she will allow it eventually." She inspected the prince for a moment before saying, "It will give you time to get your hair cut, at least."

Sebastian laughed with her. "Yes, I'm well aware of how sorely I need one."

* * *

As she was so near, Hawke decided to drop in on Fenris before returning home. Her visit with Sebastian had unsettled her. The love for her sister so clear on his face – she hadn't realized just how much she longed for a certain elf to look at her in that exact way.

Oh, he looked at her with desire, with longing, and sometimes with what she thought was true affection, but never with that unabashed _I love you more than life_ look Sebastian had so easily revealed when he talked of Bethany. It was bothering her more and more, especially since her wayward thoughts were always hovering around the idea of marriage and babies.

She slipped in through the door of his mansion and called up to him, "Fenris?"

He came to the landing and looked down at her. As she walked up the stairway and grew nearer, she studied the look on his face in a new light. The best she could call it was conflicted. Yes, there was a light there, an expression that spoke he was clearly glad to see her. But there was also a wariness, as he she might pull her dagger on him – or something equally dangerous.

"I did not expect you," he said by way of greeting.

She pushed aside her annoyance and said, "I was at the Chantry. Sebastian has returned."

He nodded. "Good that he is safely back."

"Yes," Hawke said, and couldn't help but add, "It seems he is desperately in love with my sister and intends to make her Princess of Starkhaven."

"He… what?" The look on Fenris' face was a mixture of surprise and… what… anger? She couldn't tell for sure.

"He told me that in confidence, of course," Hawke said as nonchalantly as she possibly could. "It goes no further than you."

"Of… of course," he said, eyeing her warily.

"Stop looking like that," she said. She didn't know what fey mood had taken her but she blurted, "I'm not going to insist on a proposal or anything."

"A… what?" He looked really confused now.

She moved past him into his room and noticed the mess of parchments on the table. Well, at least he gave attention to his studies.

"What is bothering you, Hawke?" he asked, coming up behind her. "Are you not pleased that Sebastian cares for Bethany?"

"Oh I'm pleased," she said, " pleased as punch." She turned and looked him in the eye. "For Bethany."

Something seemed to click in his brain, because he approached her, albeit very carefully, and held out his hand. "Hawke, I…"

She looked at his proffered hand for several seconds before accepting it. "You what?" she asked.

He shook his head. "I do not know." He brought her hand to his lips and gently kissed it.

Hawke sighed. Of course he didn't know. He was about twenty steps behind her in the _I love you more than life_ department. She knew that, she even understood, but she didn't have to like it. And she didn't. But – she loved him, and she'd made a promise to herself that she intended to keep. Taking out her frustrations on him would solve nothing. In fact, it was sure to make things worse.

"Never mind," she said and stepped in closer to him. She rubbed at the frown line on his brow. "My mood is not your fault."

He looked down at her, and at least the wariness was gone from his eyes. "Should I attempt to distract you from your bad mood?" he asked.

She looked up at the ceiling in apparent contemplation of his question. When she looked back at him, everything she felt for him was shining clearly in her eyes. _At least one of them could do so_, she thought. "Yes," she said sweetly. "A distraction would be just the thing."


	26. Chapter 25

Bethany approached the barred doors of the visiting room feeling a bit guilty. As much as she wanted to see Mari, she was hoping her visitor was, well, someone else: Someone with dark wavy hair, bright blue eyes and armor shiny enough to blind a person.

Her heart soared when the Templar opened the door and she was nearly blinded by shiny, white armor. For the first time since coming to the Gallows, the sharp _thunk_ when was steel bar was lowered did not frighten her. She thought she might be happy to be locked in this small room with _this_ man for the rest of her life.

"Sebastian," she said, and could not keep the eagerness from her voice. She felt her cheeks heat and looked down at her feet as tried to say more calmly, "It's good to see you."

"And you, Milady," he said as he took her hand and pressed his lips there. She felt that small pressure like a brand, and the heat spread through her like tiny, licking flames.

"I do wish you'd call me Bethany more often," she said, smiling.

"Bethany," he said obligingly, and more little sparks ran down her spine. The emotion behind that one word, behind her name, was almost more than she could bear.

Sebastian seemed to notice he continued to hold her hand, and used the excuse to guide her to a chair. She felt the absence of his touch as soon as he released her to take his own seat. To hide her dismay she said, "I hear you have just returned to Kirkwall."

"Yes," he said and fidgeted slightly in his chair. "Only last week, in fact."

"Then I thank you for taking the time to call on me so soon," she said. She watched him shift about some more. Why was he nervous? He was usually so calm, almost too much so. Well, except for that night on he boat when he had…

Sebastian's voice interrupted her thoughts. "Bethany," he began and then paused, seeming to study her face for long moments. "Bethany, I would speak frankly with you."

Her mouth suddenly went dry. Speak frankly? But she only said, "Of course," with a slight nod of her head. Why was she being so formal? _Maker_, she suddenly wished she'd had a string of lovers in her past, at least then she would have some idea of what to say or do.

Sebastian glanced at the door before continuing. "You must know," he began then shook his head with a laugh. "You would think I'd be better at this, but I've never…" He looked at her, his eyes blazing with emotion, "I've never felt this way about anyone before."

Bethany's heart flew to her throat and lodged there. Well, not literally of course, but she couldn't speak past the huge lump there, regardless. She felt hot and cold all at once, and her fingers began to tremble, so she gripped them tightly together in her lap, all the while searching for something to say. Sebastian continued to watch her expectantly, everything he was feeling written on his handsome face, plain for her to see.

Finally, finally she managed to get out, "Neither have I," in a shaking, trembling voice she hardly recognized as her own.

He smiled at her in such a tender, understanding way she nearly melted into her chair.

"I know this is not the time or place to speak of such things," he said gently, "but I would have you know of my love for you, my deep abiding esteem for you, even though I have nothing to offer you but my heart."

Those words seemed to work some magic on Bethany. As their true import sank into her, as the meaning of his words took root inside of her, she felt her frayed nerves begin to settle. A heat spread out from her chest in calming waves. The long months of waiting, of worrying her feelings were unrequited, and that she might never see him again, fell away. All that was left were her own feelings – feelings that mirrored his perfectly. Feelings that she felt shining through her eyes as she told him, "I will accept what you offer, if you will accept mine in turn."

Sebastian nearly jumped from his chair, but quickly got ahold of himself and simply reached for her hand. "A day will come when I might offer you everything you deserve," he said hoarsely. "But until that day I offer you my promise, that I belong to you from this day forward."

Bethany felt tears forming behind her eyes, and did nothing to check them. They were honest tears of joy and she would not hide them. "And I promise you," she whispered, "that I belong to you from this day forward."

This time he did rise from his chair, and tugged at her hand until she was standing before him. He placed a soft kiss on her mouth, but did not linger, and though she wanted so much more, she was grateful for his circumspection. If word were to get out of this…

"I'm afraid," he told her softly, lifting a hand to brush the hair from her brow, "that it is unfair that I ask you to wait for an uncertain future. Yet I can not help myself."

"Your promise will see me through anything," she said. "It is more than I ever hoped for."

"And you are more than I ever thought I would find," he said. He looked up at the door again, and led Bethany back to the table. "I saw your sister the other day," he said in a conversational tone that alerted Bethany to the fact they were being observed. "She looks well."

"Mari always looks well," Bethany said with a laugh. "She really can't help herself."

"Yes, beauty certainly runs in the Hawke family," agreed Sebastian.

Bethany's cheeks felt warm as she replied, "Thank you." She paused for a moment before adding, "I wish I had known your family."

"They would have loved you, I'm sure," he told her warmly.

They chatted pleasantly in this way until the Templar opened the door, signaling the visit was over. Just as they parted, Sebastian slipped something into Bethany's hand. They said their formal goodbyes, and it wasn't until she was safely returned to her cell that she opened her palm to see what he'd given her.

It was a tightly folded piece of parchment, covered in small, cramped writing. Inside was a sapphire pin the size of her thumbnail, the color of his eyes, and plainly set in yellow gold.

The note read:

_Someday when you can wear it proudly on your finger, I will give you my mother's ring. Until then, I hope you can find a means to hide this upon your person, so that you will have a symbol of my love with you always. S_

Bethany sighed and sank down on her narrow cot and let the tears come. This was the first day in her life she remembered crying tears of happiness.

* * *

Fenris watched Hawke as she lay sleeping. Well, perhaps napping was a better word because it was the middle of the day. Their recent… exertions must have made her tired, and so she slept and he watched her, doing his best to keep other thoughts at bay.

He wasn't succeeding very well.

He knew he wasn't giving her what she needed – knew that she gave him so much more than she ever received in turn. Even though he suffered the consequences of taking her to bed more often than he did not, it was the one price he could pay – the one thing he would not withhold from her.

But it wasn't enough and he knew it.

The memories, and the panic that accompanied them, were no less intense, but were having an interesting effect on his mind. Some things now stayed with him. Just the slightest hint of old recollections – the sound of laughter, a pair of green eyes so like his own, and the sting of a whip striking his back. He was almost sure that he that had always been a slave, perhaps been born as one – but he had no way of knowing. It was just a feeling.

Fenris had been avoiding feelings for so long that the sheer number of them he was now attempting to process kept him constantly overwhelmed and extremely wary. He knew Hawke felt that, too. Felt him struggling, withholding. He couldn't seem to help himself. Couldn't seem to reach beyond the agony that awaited him whenever he allowed himself to feel anything other than anger. Anger at the Magisters and anger at magic itself. Anger over slavery and mostly, more than anything else, a raging anger at Danarius. The anger was so easy, but everything else was painful almost to the point of torture – and torture was something he remembered very well.

He knew what lie beyond that place. Hawke was there, waiting for him. No matter how often he tried to please her, to protect her – those things all came from his mind, not from his heart. He knew he could allow no harm to come to her, and it motivated him every single day, but he began to despair of ever reaching her; of ever meeting her equally in the strength and depth of her care for him. What if meeting his sister did not restore his past to him? What if killing Danarius did not free him? He could lose Hawke, and he could not bear the thought of it. It was the only thing he was certain of – so why could he not… love her?

The irony was, he was sure that he did - a thought he'd had before but he could not get to the truth of it. Underneath the pain and the anger was something that Hawke had brought to life within him. Something different than anything else he'd ever known. And he thought, if he could only break open that barrier that held that better place inside of him shut off from her…

He thought that was exactly what Hawke was waiting for. And he didn't think it was his imagination that it was getting more and more difficult for her each day that passed. Although her words and actions often confused him, the evidence was clear on her face – in her expectant expression and the longing in her dark eyes.

When she opened those beautiful eyes and looked up at him, her face naked in its delight upon seeing him, something shifted very subtly within his heart. He suddenly knew what he could give her - what he'd never thought to give her before because he would not see her hurt or in pain. Most of his efforts had been in preventing exactly that. Perhaps that is why it had never occurred to him.

He'd not had an _attack of memory_, as he thought of them, when they'd… made love this morning. Chances were if he were to repeat those same activities with her now, he would do so. And if not this time, then the next time – but when it inevitably happened, he would not turn away and hold it to himself. He would share the experience with her, painful though it may be. There was a small glimmering of hope in his chest that _here_ was what he could give her, counterintuitive though it may be. Yet it was his truth, his reality, and Fenris was suddenly very sure that truth was at least part of what she needed. _Something real. _

Unfortunately for them both, his pain and turmoil were the most real things about him, and to offer that to her would require a trust he'd never given to anyone. He was ashamed, and he did not want to appear weak in her eyes. Would he allow his pride to keep him from her?

He would not.

Hawke hadn't moved from the bed. In fact, she had rearranged herself so that the blanket had slid down, revealing one perfect breast to his eyes. She stretched and yawned prettily, before looking back at him again. Normally he would have felt desire, but also a pull of fear. Now, with his new insight, he felt filled with anticipation that he might actually make some stride in breaking this stalemate between them - whatever it cost him. His warrior's heart came alive at the thought.

He went to her and took that perfect breast in his palm, placed his lips to her throat and let himself sink fully into her embrace. Hawke seemed to notice something was different about him and whispered in his ear, "Fenris?" He only growled in response, and for the first time had no fear of the aftermath.

He welcomed it.

* * *

As Fenris rejoined her in the bed, Hawke didn't know what to think. The look in his eyes… all his reticence seemed to have disappeared. When she'd awakened to find him watching her so intently, her playful nature had taken over and she'd teased him with a bit of skin and a long, languid stretch. His response, the way he'd flowed over her body like a wave of molten heat, his hand at her breast, his mouth unerringly find the pulse at her throat - had taken her completely off guard. For now it seemed she was only capable of feeling, and _Maker_ what feelings they were. The intensity, the heat was – _oh_ – her mind went momentarily blank because of what he was doing with his fingers. _Clever, clever fingers._

Soon she was lost completely to all thoughts as her awareness slipped into sensation.

* * *

They lay together utterly satiated, Fenris' head resting on her shoulder as Hawke idly ran her fingers through his hair. It was then that he began to tremble. Usually when this happened he would pull away, turn his back to her and silently endure the shuddering tremors while gripping the sheets or the edge of the bed. The one time she had attempted to reach out to him he had jerked so violently, she was afraid he would convulse. So when the symptoms began to appear, her heart sank. She stilled her hands and made ready to lose him to his silent suffering.

But he didn't pull away. Instead he gripped her by the shoulders, lifted his head and looked down at her. As the trembling increased, his eyes closed, his face contorted and she could tell by his grimace of pain that he was holding back a scream. Yet only a low growl escaped from his throat.

_Maker_, was it always this bad? Hawke could almost feel that scream building in her own chest, but instead of letting it loose, she took it into her heart and held it there. His trembling elevated to shaking and she shifted her hands to grip his biceps, his unyielding flesh hot under her palms as she lent him her strength - strength that had been honed by years of battle, of hardship and of loss. She was not thinking - she was reacting to his intuitive need, just as he had once done for her. He'd helped her to give form to the pain and loss of her mother's death, and even now she did not now how she would have survived without him.

It went on like that for a while – Fenris breathing heavily, his body fevered and shaking against hers. She moved one arm to slide around his waste in order to hold him more securely. Head lowered and teeth clenched, his grip on her shoulders tightened to a point nearly verging on pain. But she held on - held on to her love and to herself.

She was doing well until the lyrium under his flesh began to glow, and the first thrill of fear ran down her spine. This had never happened before. Her thinking kicked in as she suddenly realized what a precarious position she was in. If he lost control she was effectively pinned.

Hawke knew here was a crossroads – a single moment in time that would set the coarse of their future. If she failed in her trust now, she knew it would wound him no less deeply that if he had harmed her. There was only one way forward, and it was off the edge of this precipice and over the abyss where they now precariously clung. They would fall or they would fly, but they would do it together. He opened his eyes to look down at her. She'd never seen him fully lit with lyrium in this way except for in battle. Even his eyes glowed blue, the green lost under the power of the raw magic coursing through him.

She said his name. _Fenris_.

It was the oddest sensation. She felt his fingers barely phase into her shoulders and back out, leaving a trail of finger-sized numbing pinpricks behind them. When his head lowered and he claimed her mouth, she felt it again with his lips. For a moment his lips were inside of hers before she felt their pressure again on her now wildly tingling mouth. Everywhere their bodies touched she felt him phase into the surface of her skin, only to re-solidify just as quickly. He was setting her whole body alive with raw magic.

The change in Fenris seemed to happen in a heartbeat. His markings began to fade and the tremors running through his body subsided, but his ardor did not. Every nerve in Hawke's body was still singing from the interaction with his lyrium, and every move that Fenris made seemed tenfold in intensity and passion. But there was more, there was a wash of something else flowing through her that had nothing to do with lyrium. Her heart began to swell with _feeling_ as surely as Fenris filled her body, and she was once again lost to pure sensation that seemed to stretch to the very edges of the world.

* * *

Much later, when Hawke came back to herself and opened her eyes, she was confused because the world seemed titled at an odd angle.

She heard Fenris say from beside her, "I believe that we broke my bed."

She looked over at him, and the humorous expression on his face was so at odds with the light of passion still burning in his eyes that she laughed. She lifted her head and looked around. "Yes, it is most definitely broken."

His hand rose and rested on the flat plane of her belly. "But you… you are unharmed?" he asked hoarsely.

"I am the opposite of harmed," she said and turned to face him. She couldn't stop looking into his eyes. There was something there…

"I should have warned you," he said as he continued to gently rub her stomach. He'd been doing a lot of that lately.

"Hmm," she said enjoying the sensation of the slow circles his hand was making. "Perhaps, but I'm glad you…" she didn't know quite how to frame the sentence. Glad you didn't roll over and suffer by yourself? Before she could think of what to say Fenris spoke again.

"It was different with you. Different than being... alone." He shook his head. "There were no memories, only…"

"Only what?" she asked. She inched forward and put her arms around him.

"It was power, like the way I feel when I fight. Like I am alive." He moved his hand low on her back and pulled her closer to him. "But I wasn't fighting."

"No," she said, smiling. "You weren't."

"What does it mean?" he asked her sincerely.

"Oh, I don't know," she said in a long-suffering voice. "I'm afraid we're going to have to experiment quite a lot before we figure out what it means."

"Hmm," he growled. "I wonder if this mansion has enough beds."

"We'll throw a mattress on the floor," she said as she nuzzled his neck. "It'll be fine."

"Hawke," he said, and now his tone was serious once again.

"Fenris," she replied, looking up at him.

"I felt… it was more, wasn't it? More than simply…"

"Oh yes," she replied happily, "so much more."

And it was. It wasn't everything she wanted from him, but it was a very large step in the right direction. The pain, the terror that had made him run from her years ago was no longer between them. He had let her inside of that pain, and not only had they both survived it, they have both thrived within it. They'd stepped off the edge of the precipice together and they had _flown_.

She didn't just feel well-loved, she felt well and truly _loved_.

Hawke smiled. She'd never met Danarius, but she felt like she was already kicking the shit out of him – and that felt good.

* * *

She sat in her office her eyes fixed on the sword held securely in its stand. So beautiful, she could hardly believe it was a weapon of death.

Death. Yes, there were those who deserved to die. Filthy blood mages – all of them abominations in the eyes of the Maker.

The weapon had been crafted especially to that purpose. Sometimes when she sat quietly enough, she was sure she heard it singing to her. Yet no matter how hard she tried to make out the words, to glean some meaning from the ethereal sounds, she could not.

No matter, she knew the work the sword longed to do, she was in accord with its purpose and her hand itched to pick up the blade even now. But there was more to be done before the work could truly begin and there was someone in her way.

The Champion.

Blithely, that Hawke woman held the power of Kirkwall in her hands, and she did not wield it. She made no claims, exerted no influence and neither bowed to nor commanded anyone. Instead, the Champion seemed always to be where the people needed her – and the people saw themselves in her. It didn't matter if they were nobles, peasants or refugees; Hawke was their hero. A dangerous situation, indeed. There was no swaying the opinion of a city that had been saved from the verge of destruction by a lone woman.

The Champion.

She often toyed with the idea of using the Champion's sister to gain leverage over her. After all, Bethany Hawke's well-being was directly under the care of the Templars – _her_ Templars. Yet despite her many investigations, she had found the younger Hawke to be exemplary in all ways, and any attack or punishment would only draw the attention of some in power who were even now doubting her decisions and raising uncomfortable questions. That was best left as a last resort.

Fortunately, she had other ideas.

A sharp rap at her office door interrupted her musings. "Come in," she said as she stood.

"Knight Commander," said the Templar who entered.

"Ser Karras," she greeted him. "What news?"

"Everything is in place," he replied. "We only await your orders."

Knight Commander Meredith smiled, her eyes glittering like icy blue diamonds. "That is well," she said. "My orders are to proceed as you have been instructed."

Ser Karras bowed and said, "It is my pleasure, Knight Commander." He turned and left her.

Meredith continued to smile long after the Templar departed. Her gaze returned to the sword, rare red lyrium running in veins along its length. She only need wait.

* * *

Sebastian sat at the top of the stone steps that led down to the water. His view of the Gallows was perfect from this vantage, the nearly full moon illuminating the high towers of the prison and reflecting off the harbor's rippling waters. The night was cold, but peaceful. He had recently helped Hawke clean out the last batch of thugs that had tried to take over the docks. If not for the raging tension emitting from the Gallows, he would say that the city was a safer place now than in any time since he'd first come to Kirkwall. That was also because of Hawke, but despite all of her efforts, Kirkwall was not safe – especially not to those trapped in the in the Templar's prison.

_Bethany_. His beloved was there, so close and yet clearly out of his reach. He searched each rectangle of light and wondered if one was perhaps her window.

He continued to fight an inner battle, conflicted as he was that mages must be kept safe in the Circle, yet wanting – needing – his own love to be free. There would be a compromise; he would find a way to reconcile his beliefs with his feelings. He prayed every night for the Maker to guide him on his path. The only thing he could do now was trust that as needs must, he would rise to any challenge if his faith was strong enough. He knew that his love was strong enough - those doubts were long past.

A shadow sliding across the water caught his eye, and from old reflex he moved and sank back into the shadows behind a stack of crates. Why would Templars be crossing the harbor at this late hour? And it must be Templars because who else could procure a boat? He watched as the small craft drew nearer and felt some alarm when the dozen men in the boat were obviously not in Templar uniform – they were dressed in black with hoods drawn low over their faces.

In the still clearness of the night, voices began to reach him well before the boat came to rest at the dock.

"You're sure we have orders to kill her," a man said gruffly.

"You volunteered for this duty for just that reason," replied another gravely voice. "Hold you tongue and follow orders, Vincent."

_Kill who?_ Sebastian wondered, an uneasy feeling settling in his stomach.

"I hope I'm the one who puts her down like the Ferelden dog she is," said another.

"All of you, quiet!" the gravely voice said. "We near the dock."

Ferelden dog? Sebastian couldn't be sure they were referring to Hawke, but his gut told him they were. Perhaps he couldn't outmatch Isabela, but he knew a bit about sneaking in shadows himself, and set off toward Hightown like a ghost in the night.

* * *

_A/N Thank you to everyone who's added this story to their favorites and follows. I heart you all!_


	27. Chapter 26

"The Mistress is not at home," Bodahn told Sebastian, a worried look on his face.

"Where is she?" Sebastian asked impatiently.

"With Serah Fenris, perhaps?" Bodahn said, wringing his hands together.

"Bodahn, listen to me," Sebastian said hurriedly. He was eager to be off. "Is there somewhere you can hide, with the others? Get out of sight?"

"Yes, Your Grace," said the dwarf. "I know of…"

"Do not tell me, just do it," Sebastian said. "Do it now!" And he was back off into the night.

* * *

Sebastian thought he recognized the guardsman patrolling the Chantry Courtyard. "Donnic, is it?" he called.

The man approached him. "Prince Vael?" he asked.

"Yes, yes," Sebastian replied, "can you come with me? I fear Hawke is in danger."

Donnic nodded and followed Sebastian up the stairway to Hightown Estates.

"Guard the door," he told Donnic as he raced up the stairs to the room Fenris kept for his use.

He wasn't sure why he hadn't considered what Hawke spending the night with Fenris would literally mean, but the sight that greeted him, though it could have been far worse, was still… embarrassing. They appeared to be sleeping, and Hawke was draped over Fenris. The long line of her back was bare to his eyes and the blanket barely covered the soft swell of her bottom.

"Who is it?" Fenris growled and sat up, which caused the blanket to completely fall away.

Sebastian turned his head away from them and said, "Fenris, you must get up, get dressed. I fear there is an attack…"

Donnic's voice came from below, "Halt!"

"Shit," Hawke said blearily and jumped out of the bed. She pulled on her leggings, comically hopping on one foot in her haste. Fenris was right behind her.

Sebastian saw much more skin than he was comfortable with, and moved to the doorway as he heard the scuffle coming from downstairs. He let loose a dozen arrows from his bow at once and heard the satisfying _thunks_ as they found their marks.

"Hawke!" he shouted. "There's no time!"

Fenris moved past him first, a blur of blue-white light, as he ran down the steps with a roar with his blade shining before him. He was missing his pauldrons, but was otherwise dressed. Hawke, on the other hand, was dressed only in boots, leggings and a strip of leather that bound her breasts. She held a dagger in each hand, and her face was a mask of fury.

"Cover us," she said and went down to join the fight.

Sebastian moved to the railing and targeted the black-clad men pouring into the room below him. He could not see Donnic, but Fenris and Hawke were fighting together as if they were dancing a complexly choreographed series of moves. It was all he could do to remain focused on his target as he watched Fenris bend slightly and Hawke used his back as a lever to push herself high into the air. She tumbled down in a series of flips, thrusting her blades and felling her target at once. Sebastian aimed at the rogue coming up behind Hawke and watched in satisfaction as the arrow slid through the man's throat and out the other side. That one fell, too.

But these were no easy streets thugs, and three men with long swords pushed Fenris back into a corner. Fenris' hand shot out and into the largest man's chest, causing the man to crumple at his feet, but that gave the other two the advantage to press the elf more tightly. He notched his arrow ready to fire, when suddenly Hawke appeared out of nowhere in front of Fenris, slicing her blades through the air. Slightly dressed as she was, she looked like a heathen warrior out of the old tales – her skin sweat-slicked and spattered in blood, her sculpted arms moving faster than his eyes could track.

Then he heard Hawke cry out, but could not see what had happened, only that Fenris was howling and seemed to go into a frenzy. He mowed through both of his attackers with one slice of his blade.

Sebastian still couldn't see Hawke and he feared the tide was turning against them, when fireballs began to explode among the intruders. He looked down to see Anders standing in the doorway, his staff lifted high.

"Anders!" shouted Fenris, and Sebastian randomly thought that might have been the first time he heard the elf call the mage by his name.

Anders ran to the corner and kneeled, and the blue light of a healing spell spilled from his hands. Fenris protected the mage while he repaired the damage wrought upon Hawke. Donnic came stumbling into the room then, and though bleeding from a head wound, the guardsman went bravely into the fight. He held his shield before him, and attacked the intruders for all he was worth.

Sebastian was able to take down two more, which left Fenris and Donnic battling the three remaining attackers. They were moving too swiftly for Sebastian to get a clear shot, so he stood – arrow notched – waiting for an opening.

Suddenly Anders was back on his feet. He threw up a wall of perfectly placed ice that allowed Donnic and Fenris to shatter the frozen forms of the remaining men. Sebastian had deliberately refrained from calling them Templars, but he feared that is exactly who they had been. With all of them dead, Sebastian descended the stairway.

Fenris had lifted Hawke into his arms, but she was laughing and saying, "Really I'm fine." But the elf did not put her down as the five of them gathered among the newly made corpses strewn around the floor. Fenris was tracing a finger down a fading white line running down her stomach.

Anders was already tending the wound on Donnic's head when Sebastian joined them. "Your timing was perfect," he said to Anders. "How did you know?"

"Bodahn came running into the clinic yelling that Hawke needed help," Anders said.

"But how did he get there so quickly?" asked Sebastian.

Hawke had given up her attempts to get Fenris to put her down, so from her position in his arms she said, "There's a basement entrance to my estate right outside of Ander's clinic."

"Thank you, Serah," Donnic told Anders.

"Not at all," said Anders. "I rather like the Captain of the Guard owing me one." He smiled smugly.

Hawke put her face right in Fenris' and said, "We need to search the bodies."

He looked at her face, then down at her scantily clad top, before setting her on her feet.

Hawke immediately set to searching, but Fenris ran up the stairs and was back seconds later with an oversized man's shirt. He thrust it at Hawke, who absently pulled it over her head and continued searching. Sebastian set his bow aside and lent Hawke his help.

"There's nothing," Hawke said. "Not even a copper or a grocery list." She shook her head puzzled. Her eyes opened wide as her gaze rested on the face of the man whose heart Fenris had crushed. "Wait," she said. "I've seen him before."

They gathered round the man in question.

"That's a Templar!" said Anders.

"Karras," whispered Hawke. "Ser Karras."

**FROM THE JOURNAL OF VARRIC TETHRAS**

It was one pissed off Hawke that stormed into the Hanged Man in the wee hours of the morning, shouting loud enough to wake the dead – or me – she definitely woke me up. Next she was at Rivaini's door trying to pound the thing into a pulp from the sound of it. A wide-eyed, blinking Rivaini opened the door and Hawke grabbed her arm and dragged her downstairs.

Hawke had in tow Fenris, Blondie, Choirboy and Donnic. I wondered when the guardsman had started working with Hawke, but didn't ask. You wouldn't have asked either if you'd seen her – Hawke's face was furious to say the least. Last time I saw her that mad was when I made that bet with Rivaini over when she and the elf would do the deed.

Corff poked his head out, but when he saw who it was he left us to it. Wise man.

For some reason Hawke was wearing this ratty old man's shirt. But because it was Hawke, it just made her look all sexy and cute. I don't know how she pulls that shit off but she does – and with aplomb.

Pretty soon she had us all gathered around the table, except for Isabela who was behind the bar pouring pints like she owned the place (sometimes I wonder if she really does own the Hanged Man and Corff is just a front). Hawke was just about to start on a rant when the door opened and a very angry-looking Aveline and a very sleepy-looking Merrill walked in.

"Hawke!" Aveline shouted like she was going to go off on a nice little rant of her own, but Hawke was having none of that.

In a quietly furious voice, Hawke said, "Sit down Aveline." (I know I'm using the word furious a lot here, but there's no better word for Hawke's mood, believe me.)

And Maker if the Guard Captain didn't just sit down and shut up.

It's times like this we all remember why Hawke is the Champion of Kirkwall. The lady has nerves of steal when she's focused. Or furious. Sometimes both.

When she spoke it was in this very slow, very deliberate voice. "I want to know why," and she paused to look around the table, holding each of our gazes, "blighted Templars tried to kill me tonight."

"What?" breathed Aveline. Obviously this was a surprise to her.

It was a surprise to all of us, but then Donnic piped in. "I cannot confirm they were Templars, but a dozen very skilled men did try to kill the Champion tonight."

"I recognized Ser Karras," Hawke told Aveline. "You were there when we saved that apostate Grace and the other mages. He wanted to kill them on sight."

"You sent those Starkhaven mages to the Gallows," Aveline remembered.

"Yes, when Karras wanted a slaughter," Hawke said.

"You're sure it was him?" Aveline asked.

When the elf spoke up, all eyes turned to him. "I was there both times, as was Hawke. It was Karras."

Aveline nodded and no one else questioned whether the attackers were Templars or not. Andraste's ass, things were getting serious and Bianca was getting very, very twitchy.

Quoting all this dialogue is getting boring, and I'm probably getting it all wrong anyway, so let me just tell you about the rest of the impromptu meeting in my own way.

We did find out why Aveline looked ready to kick some ass when she walked into the bar. Turns out in the time it took her to get to the elf's mansion, all the bodies were gone. So instead of yelling at Hawke for calling her out in the middle of the night for no reason, she started to berate Donnic for leaving the scene before reinforcements arrived.

Poor Donnic, he sat there and took it, but the grim line of his mouth had me thinking that Aveline was going to get an earful once they were alone.

When Aveline was done, the fury seemed to evaporate from Hawke like a drop of water on a hot stove, and she suddenly looked very young and very tired. I wanted to give her a hug.

Anders just sat there looking ultra-smug, as if Templars trying to kill Hawke had suddenly proven his entire manifesto. Ever read that thing? Take my word for it, you don't want to. I wanted to stick needles in my eyes after the first paragraph.

With no evidence – no proof – there wasn't a sodding thing Hawke could do about the whole mess, and she knew it. While everyone else kept arguing on about the particulars, Hawke just sat there staring up at the ceiling with an expression on her face I couldn't quite read.

Then Anders said, "Hawke, you've got to confront Meredith with this."

Sebastian said, "Perhaps this is a matter for the Grand Cleric."

Aveline said, "There isn't anything the guard can do without evidence."

Donnic grunted.

Isabela said, "We should arrange a little raid of our own."

Merrill said, "Do you think these peanuts are still good? They look moldy."

I said, "I wouldn't eat them Daisy. I'm pretty sure Corff rescued them from the floor."

Fenris said nothing, but he sat there watching Hawke, well, like a hawk.

For some reason I don't really understand, everybody shut up and then we were all looking at Hawke that same way.

Finally Hawke stood and looked around the table at us. I half expected her to announce some elaborate plan, some sort of reconnaissance mission or - I don't know – something. What she said made all of our jaws drop.

"We do nothing." She said it with such certain finality even Anders didn't protest.

Me, on the other hand, I couldn't help myself. I'm pushy that way. "Hawke," I said. "What's this about?"

Very quietly she said, "If it was Meredith, her plan failed. I doubt she'll repeat it." She lifted a hand and rubbed at her temple. "If we confront her," she shifted her gaze to Sebastian, "it could make things so much worse."

It was Choirboy's turn to go all ghosty in the face. Maybe he hadn't thought of Bethany in the Gallows before now, but he sure did then. It was written all over his face.

"Maker preserve us," he said.

That was pretty much the end of our midnight meeting. I'd like to say something funny or clever to end this off, but truthfully, I'm getting worried. Kirkwall is like a powder keg ready to blow, and there are entirely too many people walking around with lit matches.

* * *

"So," Hawke said as casually as she could manage, "let's go get your stuff."

"My _stuff_?" Fenris asked, clearly puzzled.

They were walking through the Hightown Market, Aveline and Donnic well ahead of them, talking in low, heated voices. It was just before dawn and the wisps of clouds above them were tinged pink with the first rays of the sun.

As wonderful as yesterday was with Fenris, it had also been both emotionally and physically exhausting. To top it all off, she'd had very little sleep before she'd been attacked by incognito Templars. Tired was perhaps too tame of a word, which was why she didn't want to argue with Fenris. She was hoping to play if off as no big deal, but she wanted him to move in with her. Now.

"Yes," she told him. Even though it wasn't the whole truth, and she was actually more concerned for him than for herself, she said, "I'd feel better if you'd stay with me… for awhile… until this blows over."

Fenris stopped walking. "You think this will blow over?"

She wished she could see his face more clearly, because she could not read his voice. She sighed. She was too tired to prevaricate any longer. "No. No I don't," she admitted. "But between the Templars and the Crows and…" she hesitated, "and Danarius…" She lifted a hand in supplication. "Please, Fenris." She waited for the argument and decided if he would not agree, she'd just move in with him in that rat hole he called home. She'd lived in worse places – take Gamlen's house for instance.

Finally he said, "A compromise, perhaps?"

"Does the compromise include you sleeping in my bed every night?" she asked. She felt something tight in her chest loosen when he chuckled.

"Yes," he replied. "But I will leave my _stuff_ where it is."

Okay, okay, she could work with this. "How about dinner? You'll have dinner with me, right?"

"I suppose…" he began.

"And breakfast, too. You must have breakfast. You _know_ Orana makes the most mouth-watering sweet rolls." She grinned, took his arm and resumed walking.

"Hawke," he said with a low grumble.

"I suppose I can let you use my hairbrush if you won't bring your own," she went on. "But if you want to use the bathtub, you should bring your own soap or you'll smell like flowers."

"Honeysuckle," he corrected her, and then added. "You're chattering."

"And what about…"

Hawke didn't get a chance to finish. Fenris lifted her into his arms and clamped his mouth down on hers in one swift move.

"Anything else?" he asked once he lifted his head.

"No," she said, and then added. "Walk faster."

And he did.

* * *

Mari sat on the old stone bridge, her feet dangling over the rushing water. She often dreamed of this place where she had once sat talking with her father. His voice still seemed to whisper on the soft breeze.

_True heart, Mari_.

And although he never came to her in dreams anymore, she still felt close to him here – she felt comforted.

"Hawke?"

She turned her head quickly to see Fenris stepping onto the bridge.

"Fenris! What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Where is here?" he asked her in turn, looking around at the peaceful scene.

She smiled and tugged at his hand, urging him to sit next to her. "It's my dream," she replied. "We're in the Fade."

"I have never had a dream like this," he said, settling himself by her side.

"I admit it's not very exciting," she said, "but I like it here."

"It is peaceful," he agreed and lifted a hand to her cheek. "You feel very real."

She laughed. "What do you usually dream?" she asked.

His eyes darkened and he looked away. "You do not want to know."

"Well then," she said softly, "You're welcome to share my dreams instead."

"Is that what I'm doing?" he asked, turning back to face her.

She shrugged. "Who knows? But I'm glad you're here."

A blue-winged butterfly landed in his hair, which made Hawke laugh in delight.

They sat in silence for a time before Fenris finally spoke. "To be honest, I have only ever dreamt of my life as a slave." He paused. "I suppose you would call them nightmares."

Hawke felt his pain in her own heart. "Every night?" she asked, horrified.

He nodded. "I wonder…"

When he didn't continue, she prompted him. "What, Fenris? What do you wonder?"

"I wonder if this has something to do with what happened between us yesterday?" His voice was very hoarse as he spoke the words.

Hawke thought for a moment. "If that's true, I'm glad of it," she said. Impulsively she tweaked his nose. "No more nightmares for you."

Fenris smiled, and it was a true smile. "I could never have imagined such a thing would be possible." His hand returned to her cheek. "I could never have imagined…"

Again, he fell into silence.

"I think," she said and she took ahold of his hand and pressed her lips to his palm, "I think it's about time you began to imagine a lot of things, Fenris."

He kissed her then, every so gently, his tongue running lightly along her parted lips. Hawke closed her eyes and allowed this sweet moment to rest gently upon her heart.

When she opened her eyes again she was back in her bed, lying face to face with Fenris, his own eyes open and lit from within.

"Was it real?" he murmured the question.

She snuggled closer to him. "Yes," she whispered. "Yes it was." And she thought to herself that perhaps this was what she'd been intuiting for so long. The power of their connection to work its healing magic - magic of the heart.

* * *

When the Knight Commander received the news that Karras and his men were dead, she simply nodded to the Templar who stood before her, her face serene –a mask showing nothing. Yet, it took her a moment to compose her inner turmoil. How could Karras have failed?

"And the aftermath?" she asked calmly.

"No trace left," the Templar said. "As you ordered."

"Unlike Ser Karras, you have performed your duty well," she told the man. "Your company will be rewarded."

"Thank you Knight Commander," the man said with a bow. "It was our honor and our duty."

Once he was gone Meredith returned to her desk. If anyone had been watching her they would have thought her perusing her correspondence. But she wasn't – she was listening to the singing. It had become much more prevalent in her mind of late, and she was sure it would not be long before she would grasp its meaning. Until then, she would reevaluate her strategy on how to remove the Champion.

She had every confidence she would succeed, given the proper time and opportunity. She had no doubts at all.

* * *

_**Several Months Later...**_

"Hey elf," Varric said coming up to the table where Fenris sat alone, nursing a pint.

Hawke was off with Aveline, Isabela and Merrill – a girl's night, she'd called it, a last hurrah for the Guard Captain before her upcoming nuptials. It made him uneasy that he did not know where they'd gone.

"Varric," he said, and nodded to the dwarf.

Varric took the seat opposite him and pushed a sealed envelope across the table. "This came for you."

Varric had been accepting his correspondence for quite some time. Fenris sat looking at the letter as if it were a bomb that would explode if he touched it.

"Aren't you going to open it?" Varric asked. The look on his face was all curiosity.

Fenris gingerly picked up the letter and stared down at the seal. "No," he said and slipped it into the small satchel on his belt.

"Oh, come on," Varric pressed. "You get a letter from Minrathous and you're not going to…"

"No," Fenris repeated emphatically.

"Hmph," Varric grunted. "Do a favor for an elf and what do you get?"

Fenris rose to leave. "My thanks," he said and then added, "goodnight Varric."

He heard Varric grumbling, something about _thanks _and _fleas on a nug_, before he slipped through the door.

* * *

In the months since he'd been spending his nights with Hawke (he'd not come so far as to admit he had moved in) everything about his life had been rapidly shifting. No longer plagued by nightmares, he found it easier to focus on the present – on his life as he was actually living it instead of continuing to live the horrors of his past experience. He remembered that day in the Hanged Man so long ago when the veil had lifted and he'd truly felt free for those few moments. That feeling was becoming more of a reality for him each day. Yes, magic had left a terrible stain on his life, on his very soul, but he was slowly learning that it could be used in ways that Danarius had never intended.

Such as the nights he spent in Hawke's arms… he had no words to describe what it was like. Sharing his pain with her – allowing her inside the pain – had transformed the agony of his attacks into a place of incredible power. He was far stronger than he had ever been, and he had also found interesting ways to use his lyrium talents for pleasure instead of pain. In fact, his ability to control those talents had increased beyond what he ever could have imagined, both when he fought and when he… when he made love to Hawke. He quickened his pace to avoid thinking about her, worrying over her.

And now he'd received this letter from Varania.

He slipped into the darkness of his mansion and lit his markings just enough to see by. He could hardly believe he was now employing his power usefully instead of cursing what had been done to him – and it was because of Hawke.

He sat down on the bench before the cold fireplace, unfolded the parchment and read through the letter. He then re-read it several more times before its meaning truly sank in.

His sister was coming to Kirkwall. Tomorrow he would pay a visit to Aveline – enlist the Guard Captain's aid. He would finally find out if there really were a past for him to reclaim – a family to reconcile.

He looked around the room where he'd spent so much of his time for so many years and wondered why he was sitting here now. He rose to leave and on impulse picked up the hairbrush lying on the table. Not that he ever used it much, but he thought it would make Hawke smile to see it resting on her nightstand.

* * *

"This better not be illegal," Aveline said as they descended the stone steps to the docks.

"That's you," said Isabela, "trying to ruin our fun before we've begun."

"Your idea of fun and mine are very different, I'm sure," replied Aveline.

"Why? Because you're a prig and I'm not?" asked Isabela saucily.

"No, because I don't have to be on my back to have fun." Aveline grumped.

"Ooo, you're not as boring as I thought," quipped Isabela.

"Shut up, whore," the Guard Captain said tartly.

"Please," said Hawke. "Just stop."

"Why are we at the docks?" asked Merrill. "It's scary here at night." Merrill was walking so close to her, Hawke kept having to side step to avoid tripping.

"Wait for it, Kitten," said Isabela.

They rounded the last corner and there in a slip was a sleek schooner – lit up like a birthday cake. Music spilled into the night along with the sounds of deep, masculine laughter.

"Isabela?" asked Hawke.

"Our party awaits us," Isabela replied with a little curtsy.

Hawke had to admit Isabela had outdone herself. Well, she'd outdone herself with the use of Hawke's coin purse. In addition to the musicians, there was a feast of epic proportions, spirits of every variety and many, many well-built, shirtless sailors to wait on them hand and foot. Merrill's face was a perpetual shade of pink from all the attention.

They'd sailed the ship through the narrow passage of the harbor and out into the open sea, where they'd caste anchor not far from shore. With the help of several glasses of wine, even Aveline had let down her guard down (so to speak) and was standing next to Hawke at the railing. The Guard Captain looked out over the water at the moonlight reflecting on the sea, a rare smile on her face.

"Happy?" asked Hawke.

"Happiness is for fools," she said, but there was no sting in her words.

"Admit it, Aveline," Hawke tried again, "You've made a good life for yourself." She put a hand on her friend's shoulder and said, "And you're about to wed a fine man."

Aveline ducked her head. "He is a fine man," she admitted. "I never thought…"

A squeal from below decks made them both look up.

"How many is that?" Aveline asked with a laugh.

"I think that's the third one," replied Hawke.

"She really is horrible," Aveline remarked, but there was a look of fondness on her face.

Merrill came drifting over to them. "What's she doing down there?" she asked.

"Whoring," said Aveline, smiling.

"Aveline!" Hawke exclaimed and glanced at Merrill.

"Oh…" said Merrill, then lowered her voice to a whisper. "Sex."

"Maybe that's how she's paying them," said Aveline, now bursting into full laughter.

Hawke narrowed her eyes and said, "Just how much wine have you been drinking?"

Aveline smirked. "Not nearly enough!" She raised her glass and looked at Hawke. "You're still nursing that same glass," she accused.

"Yes, well," Hawke hedged. "Someone should keep their wits about them."

Isabela's laughter floated up to them, followed by the woman herself. She grabbed Hawke by the waist and said, "Let's dance, sweet thing!" and Hawke found herself trying to dance a Ferelden reel on a rocking, swaying deck.

The things she did for her friends…

**FROM THE JOURNAL OF VARRIC TETHRAS**

It is a truth universally acknowledged that any time Hawke shows up for a party, things are going to get interesting. Or in this case, a wedding: The wedding of Aveline Vallen and Donnic Hendyr. Those two finally began their journey into connubial bliss at the Chantry yesterday. Grand Cleric Elthina herself officiated – quite the honor for the Guard Captain.

The ceremony was beautiful, blah, blah, blah… Let's just skip to the interesting part, which happened not at the wedding, or even at the reception, but later at the Hanged Man where we all gathered after seeing Aveline and her new husband off on their honeymoon to Orlais…

Maybe it was the dress – this shimmering indigo blue number that clung to Hawke's curves like a second skin. I'm not exaggerating when I tell you she had been garnering an awful lot of male attention that whole day. So by the time we got to the Hanged Man, the elf was in full-blown brooding mode, and maybe he was a little bit drunk, hard to say. However it happened, he was sitting off by himself in a corner when Hawke and Isabela decided it was a good idea to teach everyone in the bar this line dance called the Ferelden Stomp. Ever seen it? No? Well, let's just say that even though it sounds like it's mostly about feet, there's a lot of hand-action to that dance.

It was pretty funny at first – even Daisy was up there trying to learn, but she kept squealing every time somebody grabbed her hips (part of the dance, you understand). It was all good natured fun until some young noble that had followed us from the reception grabbed Hawke by her hips and, well, pulled her back against him, if you know what I mean.

Before Hawke even had a chance to react, there was a blue-glowing Fenris reaching for the guy and I thought, Uh oh – the poor sot's going to lose his organs. I swear I never saw the elf move from the corner… did he suddenly learn to teleport? Anyway, Hawke is no slacker in the quick-moves department herself, and just as the elf's hand shot out Hawke throws herself between them.

Which meant his hand ended up inside of Hawke instead of the stupid, drunk noble. I literally stopped breathing – I could not believe what I was seeing, and really I expected to see Hawke crumple to the floor any second. The whole room had gone deathly quiet and I was already reaching for Bianca, because that was going to be one dead elf if he… nope, can't even go there.

But instead of dropping dead, Hawke let's out this, well, moan – and it didn't sound like she was in pain. Not. At. All.

The elf's hand slid out of her and then Hawke twined herself around him. He lifted her off the floor and her legs wrap around his waist as their mouths locked together. _He hem. _It was getting rather intimate when Rivaini, of all people, started to push people away. She was shouting something about the party being over, but I was so shocked by what had almost happened I admit I just stood there gaping.

Eventually a rather red-cheeked Hawke slid down off of Fenris, took him by the hand and led him up to my rooms. He was still glowing a little bit, so nobody interfered, and I seriously have no idea what the two of them did up there for sure, but we all had a pretty good idea.

Because I have an excellent imagination, I began to wonder if this wasn't something that Hawke and her elf didn't already have… experience with, because the way they… never mind.

When the party finally broke up and everyone else was gone, Hawke and the elf finally came down to find me sitting there by myself. No way I was going to interrupt them.

Hawke said, "You're a good friend, Varric," and kissed me on the cheek before the two of them walked out into the night.

Lucky elf.

* * *

Why did he always find himself watching her as she slept?

Tonight, perhaps, it was because he had nearly… what? He knew how it must have looked to everyone staring at them as his lyrium-lit hand pushed into Hawke's body. The gasps that echoed around the room certainly confirmed that they all had thought he would kill her. He could not blame them for thinking so, but it was not what had happened.

The moment his hand had passed into her flesh his intent had transformed from rage into passion in the space of a heartbeat. If was as Hawke herself had affected the change, because he could remember no conscious thought in those moments; he could only remember her sweet moan of release. What had followed, well – it seemed neither of them had any choice. The passion that erupted between them was beyond any possible control. He continued to marvel at the way Hawke had taken his hand and led him so calmly up into Varric's suite.

Things had not remained calm – they had become quite… heated, and not in a bad way.

Later he'd attempted to apologize. She would not let him – she had insisted that she had never feared he would harm her, and had trusted him implicitly. He had called that assumption into question. She had reminded him of how many times his flesh had moved through hers and smiled at him, her dark eyes filled with remembered passion. And he remembered her words.

"I know your heart, Fenris." She said that as if it answered every question he would ever have, and solve every challenge he may ever face.

Now, watching her sleep, he thought of these last six years and knew that without her he would still be an angry, broken slave. He could not help himself, he reached out and stroked her clear brow. She did not awaken but the corners of her mouth curved and she exhaled a soft sigh.


	28. Chapter 27

_One month later…_

What exactly had just happened? Hawke wasn't entirely sure. Maker knew how, but she'd found herself caught between the Knight Commander and the First Enchanter, playing referee.

Not a position she would have sought.

Hawke had nearly punched Meredith when she'd brought up Quentin. She'd wanted to shake Orsino for being so shortsighted. He refused to acknowledge the real danger of rogue mages in the city. Hawke had never been so glad to see anyone as she had the Grand Cleric, who had put a halt to the whole ridiculous affair.

She grinned to herself. Well, except for Fenris. Hawke was always that glad to see him.

They had done their best to force her into choosing – Mages or Templars - but she'd evaded that trap like the rogue she was. The truth was, she thought Meredith crazy and Orison creepy. Hawke preferred to be on the side of honor and truth - things neither one of them seemed interested in.

Hawke, however, was not naïve. She knew without a doubt that she would eventually have to choose – she could feel something big coming, just as she had before the Blight came to Ferelden.

Flemmeth had said – _Hurled into the chaos you fight, and the world will shake before you._

Her father had said – _Your greatest challenges are yet to come_.

_True Heart, Mari_, she thought.

Wanting nothing more than to put this morning's fiasco behind her, she went in search of the one person who could possibly distract her.

Fenris.

* * *

"Come with me, Hawke," he'd said.

As if she would have refused. She remembered very clearly Hadrianna's taunts to Fenris about his supposed sister. She remembered, too the torment it had caused her fierce warrior. It was only that he'd sprung this whole _I found my sister and now she's here_ thing on her out of nowhere. Hawke had been both surprised and a bit hurt. Why had he not confided in her?

No matter. Fenris definitely smelled a rat and to be honest – so did she. They would _discuss_ the details later.

Isabela and Varric would most likely be at the Hanged Man where his sister waited, but she'd been glad to pick up both Sebastian and Merrill along the way. Reinforcements were quite the thing.

Hawke hoped this was nothing more than a heart-warming family reunion for her love. If Danarius did have a trap waiting for them…well, Hawke had been waiting a very long time to meet him.

* * *

It was a trap.

Fenris' lovely red-haired sister had called him _Leto_.

Danarius had descended the stairs, laughing quietly.

Hawke glanced at Fenris and for a moment the unguarded expression on his face took her breath away. He looked… he looked horrified. He looked as if every nightmare he'd ever endured had cruelly come to life before his very eyes.

Where was her fierce warrior?

"Ah, my little Fenris. Predictable as always," the Magister said as he approached them.

Words of apology fell meaninglessly from Varania's lips. "I'm sorry it came to this Leto."

Hawke started breathing again when she heard the anger in Fenris' voice. "You led him here," he snarled.

And then Danarius spoke in a creepy, cultured tone, "Now, now Fenris," as if he were speaking to a wayward child. "Don't blame your sister. She did what any good Imperial Citizen should."

As difficult as it was, Hawke held her tongue.

"I never wanted these filthy markings, Danarius, but I won't let you kill me to get them." Good - more anger from Fenris.

Hawke seriously doubted Danarius had any intention of allowing Fenris to be killed. She scanned the room and saw her friends poised for a fight and steadied herself.

Danarius' pitiless laughter sent chills down her spine. "How little you know, my pet."

The Magister turned to Hawke, and she had the sudden urge to spit in his face. She quelled the urge with some difficulty.

"And this is your new Mistress then? The Champion of Kirkwall?" The appreciative look he gave her turned her stomach. "Quite lovely."

Hawke was having serious problems controlling her temper. She wanted to wipe that smirk off his face, but she only said in clipped tones, "Fenris doesn't belong to anyone."

"Do I detect a note of jealousy? It's not surprising." Danarius looked Fenris up and down with a possessive eye. It was so much worse than the way he had appraised her. "The lad is rather skilled, isn't he?"

Hawke only had time to think, _You have no idea you sick bastard_, before the lyrium under Fenris' began to glow blue-white.

"Shut your mouth, Danarius," he growled.

A grunt of dismissal preceded the Magister's next words. "The word is _Master_," he said and lifted his staff.

There was a split second when Fenris' gaze locked with hers, a hint of uncertainty in his eyes. Hawke gave him her best smile, and saw with relief that his expression immediately cleared. The roar of her fierce warrior filled the room.

The fight was on.

* * *

Danarius caste his protective circle and smugly watched as his hunters set upon his prized pet. They were under the strictest orders not to kill him, of course. If Fenris were to be killed, it would be done very slowly over a very long time, in the same manner Danarius himself had once meticulously carved the lyrium into his favorite's flesh. But he had not yet decided the lad's fate. Danarius had always enjoyed him so, and if his memories could once again be erased…

The Magister was surprised when not only did his little wolf's new mistress jump to his defense, but a female elf, a dwarf and two humans took up the fight as well. Interesting. He'd heard the lad had strong friends. This must be why he'd avoided Danarius' long reach for these many years.

No matter, Fenris' overlong holiday was over, and it was time to go home.

He found himself watching the lad fight, admiring the fine killing machine he himself had created, when he noticed something mildly disturbing. Over the years he had watched Fenris slaughter hundreds of his enemies, and knew the exact capabilities of his former slave quite well. Yet as he watched Fenris and the Champion fight together… it wasn't possible. His pet would bend and she would leap over him, only inches to spare. He mowed through the hunters as if they were made of straw and she appeared out of nowhere to fell the last one. Apparently his pet had learned a few new tricks.

Time to intervene. He lowered his shield and slit his wrist and soon his dead hunters were rising from the floor, he then called into the Fade, and demons and shades arrived to do his bidding. It was so easy.

And then, before he was aware of what was happening, sharp pain exploded between his shoulder blades. He turned to strike out with his staff, but the Champion was already ducking into a roll and out of his reach before he could hit her. He resumed his protective circle and turned to view the battle below him as he quickly swallowed a healing potion. His mouth dropped open in surprise. All of his warriors were down and Fenris and that dark-skinned woman were slicing through the last of the shades.

Arrows rained around Danarius, bouncing harmlessly off his shield, and when he looked to their source, he saw that odd dwarf wink at him.

He was the most powerful Magister in Tevinter. He would not be bested.

Danarius was no fool, so he tracked the Champion as she fought – she was his target. Remove her and Fenris would stop this foolish attempt at freedom and return to his side like the tamed pet he really was. Oh yes, he knew where his pet had been spending his nights. He felt his own tinge of jealousy.

This time when he dropped his shield he wasted no time – his sliced through his forearm and sent the full force of his rending magic directly at the Champion. His smile was satisfied as he watched the spell curl and slither around her, syphoning her life force directly into his opened vein. She fell to her knees.

Fenris roared.

At once, a bolt slammed into his shoulder and an arrow pierced his throat. Danarius stumbled. Another explosion of pain bloomed in his back, low on his spine, and rocked him back further against the wall. A woman's bawdy laughter echoed through the room and Danarius swayed heavily. His eyes frantically searched the room for his pet. That female elf was plying the Champion with potions and Fenris was… He lifted his staff to throw up his shield, and yet the force with which Fenris hit him caused him to stagger. The arrow still lodged in his throat bit deeper and he choked out in pain.

Fenris stood facing him, a wolf's snarl on his face, his sword clenched in his lyrium-lit hands. He said no word, but his gaze did not waver from the eyes of the Magister. Soon the other ones, the dwarf and the small elf, the two humans and the Champion all stood before him, their weapons ready – their expression filled with grim determination. Oddly enough, the dwarf grinned at him.

The Champion came to stand beside Fenris, and though she was pale, when he looked into her eyes he did not see anger or fear or rage. Danarius had once met a Grey Warden with that same indescribable look, and he knew then that he had horribly underestimated this woman.

When he could no longer maintain his shield, Danarius prepared one last spell, but knew he never had a chance. His pet, his little wolf, his prized possession lifted him into the air the moment his magic failed him. Fenris' lyrium pulsed with a bright and terrible beauty…

And the voice of his slave thundered:

"_You are no long my master."_

Danarius knew no more.

* * *

They had left the Hanged Man, the two of them walking in silence. Hawke was unsure of their destination; she simply followed where he wished to lead. The events of the past hour played through her mind.

"No, please stop him," Varania had pleaded.

Hawke had rarely felt so conflicted. The woman had surely deserved to die, sister or no – but Hawke was loathe to see Fenris taint his soul with an act of violence that once done, could never be erased. To kill one's own blood… she shuddered.

Fenris had stood poised, and Hawke new in that moment of pain and betrayal, he would end her life without a qualm. No, the qualms would come later, she was sure. And so more to protect Fenris than because of any concern for this woman, Hawke had said, "Fenris, stop."

"Why should I stop after what she has done?" Fenris had not taken his eyes off the woman cringing before him.

And she'd told him, "I would kill her myself for what she has done." She'd taken a deep breath before she had continued, "Yet it seems to me that your mercy would be a better punishment."

That caused Fenris to look up at her. He said, "I do not understand you."

Hawke had smiled, because she thought perhaps he did understand, but wanted to hear her say the words. She'd said, "Through her betrayal, she has lost everything." Hawke looked around at her companions, gathered there in support of this man. "And she sees what she might have gained." The temptation to put her hand on his shoulder was strong, but she'd resisted. "Let her live with that, Fenris. It seems fitting."

Seconds had passed in a tense silence. Varric piped in, "Don't do it, elf."

Hawke knew Varric had been thinking of his own brother - his own decision to spare Bartrand's life despite what he had done.

"Get out," Fenris finally said, turning his back on his sister.

What Varania told him before she pushed through the door had shocked them all. Fenris had fought for his markings, and used the boon he'd gained from Danarius to free his family.

As Variana had fled, Fenris had turned to Hawke, his eyes filled with pain. He looked lost – so alone. He'd talked of a past that was no longer his to reclaim, and had anguished over what magic had done to him, stolen from him. Hawke had been unable to keep from touching him any longer. She lain her hand on his arm and said, "I'm here, Fenris."

His expression had transformed as he placed a gentle hand to her cheek, and she had seen the caring, the gratitude in his eyes.

Now, as they returned home, Bodahn fussed over the state of their armor and the bloody tracks they left on the floor as they crossed the foyer. Hawke hardly heard him, her thoughts consumed by what might come next.

To distract herself, Hawke decided to focus on the good things that would come next. She grinned. Like a bath. A bath was most surely on the _next_ list.

Yet niggling at the back of her mind was the BIG question. Would Fenris would take that final leap? Would he truly leave the past behind him?

_No matter what_, she thought.

* * *

Hawke and Fenris sat cross-legged facing each other on her wide bed. In the hours since they had returned home, they'd spoken little. Baths were taken, food was eaten, armor given to Bodahn for cleaning – a normal routine on a day that was anything but normal.

Fenris sat with his head bowed seeming to study the scarlet silk wrapped around his wrist, his fingers plucked at its frayed edges.

Hawke sat studying _him_, wanting to soothe him, to ease his turmoil – but instead she was waiting for Fenris – they had come to the place at last where the course of their future would be set. What came next rested solely in his hands.

Finally he looked up at her. Their eyes met and held. There was so much that must now be said.

His first words were, "I thought once Danarius was dead I would finally be free. That I could live as a free man does, but I find… I do not know what that means."

"Oh, I don't know," she said smiling at him. "I think you've done pretty well."

"Have I?" His eyes closed briefly and he said in a low voice, "I do not know." He then held up his lyrium-laced arm for her inspection. "This magic… You heard my sister, I wanted it – fought for it."

"How can you judge yourself for what you can not remember?" she asked. "Those motives belong to someone else."

"Perhaps," he said. "It was easy to blame Danarius, to hate Danarius. But now that he is dead, I have only myself to blame."

"Fenris, everything about Danarius was evil – was wrong. He owned people – tortured them – had them killed to fuel his own power." She did not try to conceal her outrage. "Do not compare yourself to him."

Hawke sat very still - waiting, keeping her breath steady, her feelings clear on her face. Waiting as she had been for so very, very long. His silence stretched into long minutes, and she found herself mesmerized by the way he was looking at her, the crystalline green of his eyes pulling her in and making her forget everything but her heart – everything except how very much she loved this man.

"I feel unclean," he finally said, "as if this magic has stained my very soul."

"Fenris…" she began, but he interrupted her.

"Think about it, Hawke," he said, and his eyes beseeched her to understand. "That night I left you… I ran... I was a coward." His voice was filled with remorse. "I ran from everything you offered me. I should have begged your forgiveness long ago."

She couldn't allow him to get away with that. "I've been inside your pain Fenris. I understand."

"But can you forgive me?" he asked, his voice hoarse. "Can you forgive everything I've put you through, everything I have denied you for… for so long?" He looked away, his face a mask of torment.

It had never been about forgiveness. She had fallen in love with him with her eyes wide open. How could she have expected him to be anyone else, other than who he was? The rest, however… She thought that they had actually put _each other_ through quite a lot, and pretty much equally.

So she asked him, "What is it you have denied me, Fenris?" She wanted to hear from his lips if he actually knew what he had withheld from her - the one thing that would put her heart at ease. Did he understand?

"I used to think it was love," he sad sadly. "That I did not know how to return yours in equal measure."

She'd known for a long time that underneath his pain, his anger, his terror, he cared for her deeply. It was in his every action, in all of the choices he made. "But now?" she asked, trying to control the mixture of fear and hope burning in her heart. If he did not know…

"Even though I can not make sense of what I feel much of the time, I know that you never leave my thoughts, night or day. I know that you mean more to me than my own life, that I cannot bear the thought of you hurt or in pain. I think, perhaps, that is love," he said.

"You think correctly," Hawke said kindly. "But you have not answered my question."

"For a long time, I was nothing more than what had been done to me," he said ruefully. "I would not believe that any other life was possible."

She nodded, accepting that was true for him, but she had always seen her fierce warrior's true heart, from the moment they had met. "And now?" she asked.

"Now I want… I want to be who you see when you look at me," he said. "I want to give to you what I now know you have always given me…"

Hawke watched him struggle, wanting to help him but knowing she could not give him answers - that he must come to this himself. So she asked, "What do you know, Fenris?"

He looked at her so intently it was all she could do not to throw herself into his arms. "I know that nothing could be worse than the thought of living without you."

_Nearly there,_ she thought, as her heart skipped a beat. "Fortunately for you," she said and she finally gave in to the urge to comfort him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her forehead to his, "living without me is not an option."

His hands went to her waist and held her tightly. "And I know… I know that as long as I breathe, I will never again doubt you..." He paused and began again. "I ran because I was ashamed. I thought it better if you hated me… but you did not hate me," he said and pulled her closer. "You stood by me as if I had never betrayed your trust." His eyes, so very close to her own, held a strength of purpose she had never seen there before. "That is what I offer you now in turn." His voice dropped to a low growl. "If there is a future to be had, I will walk into it gladly at your side."

"I accept," she said playfully, while inside her spirits soared and her heart danced. He understood. He may not have used the exact words, but his meaning was clear. _No matter what_.

"Y-you… accept?" he asked.

"Yes," she purred and dropped a kiss on his nose. "I accept a future with you by my side."

"I have… I have nothing to offer you _but_ myself," he said, but there now there was new hope in his voice.

"Lucky you," she said. "That is all I have ever wanted."

"And you would…" he began, but fell silent.

Hawke's dancing heart spun a pirouette. "I would?" she prompted.

"You would… betroth yourself to me?"

Hawke closed her eyes. She had not really believed… had not thought he would ask… She realized she had not been prepared for this moment at all, and her heart now began to beat a quick, erratic cadence in her chest. Her breathing became rapid and shallow and she could not take enough air into her lungs.

"Hawke?" Fenris asked and lifted his hands to her face. "What's wrong? Should I not have…?"

She opened her eyes and felt the tears pooling there – felt them spilling over onto her cheeks and she found the only thing she could do in that moment was give him her best smile.

Fenris wiped at her tears with his fingers. "You appear happy, but you are crying…what does this mean?" His face was filled with concern.

"I…" she tried, but there was no getting words past the thickness in her throat, so instead she pressed her mouth to his and poured everything she was feeling into her kiss.

And her elf? He responded to that kiss with such raw emotion, with such explosive power that Hawke cursed the clothing, loose though it was, that separated them. She pulled back and placed her palm over his mouth. "Wait," she said. "Wait." She needed to say, to tell him…

"Hawke?" he breathed, and the sound was so dear to her ears.

"Fenris," she said on a soft breath. "I would betroth..." she could not stop the small sob that escaped her throat. "I gladly betroth myself to you."

This time it was Fenris who pressed his mouth to hers, claiming her truly as his love, his life. The power of it overwhelmed her, and Hawke surrendered into his arms as he gathered her up and lay back with her on the bed. Soon his deft hands had their clothing removed, a feat that Hawke was sure she could never have accomplished. For the first time (but not for the last, oh no) she cried with the sweet joy of hearts intertwined, love given and received, and promises kept.

* * *

Fenris never got used to Hawke crying when they made love, but as she laughed just as often, he did not worry. It was just how Hawke was, and therefore, it was perfect.


	29. Chapter 28

Fenris awoke alone in Hawke's bed, and for a moment the old panic tried to take hold of him.

_Where was Hawke?_

But then he heard the sound of her delighted laughter drifting up to him from downstairs, and felt himself begin to breathe normally again. She was his own Hawke, and there was nothing left for him to fear in this life.

He heard her soft footsteps coming up the stairway, followed by Hawke herself entering her bedroom (their bedroom?) with a covered tray in her hand and a wicked little smile on her face.

"Breakfast is served," she said with a slight bow.

"Hmm," he growled as he pushed himself up to lean against the headboard, "That smell…"

"Yes," she replied and lifted the cloth from the tray with a flourish. "Sweet rolls." She sauntered over to him and sat on the edge of the bed. "I have such fond memories of sweet rolls."

"Do tell?" he said, his eyes appreciatively taking in her disheveled appearance. She looked like a woman who had been very well loved, which filled him with both pride and gratitude.

"Oh yes," she said interrupting his thoughts. "I once kept a very handsome, very sexy man trapped naked in his bed for _days,_ and I fed him sweet rolls." Hawke ran her tongue over her lips, and he found he was more interested in her mouth than in breakfast.

"It was delicious." She tore off a bite-sized chunk of the warm roll and held it up to him, just out of reach of his mouth.

"And this man allowed that?" he asked with a grin.

"He didn't seem to mind," she said airily, and lowered the bit of bread to his mouth. "In fact," she added pushing the sticky sweetness between his lips, "I think he rather enjoyed it."

Fenris chewed the delectable morsel and swallowed before saying, "I'm sure he did," in a low growl.

Hawke continued to break off bits and feed them to him, her eyes alight with amusement. "Of course," she said teasingly, "I'm a lady, so I would never tell what happened once all the sweet rolls were gone."

"Hmm," he said thoughtfully. "Perhaps you could show me?"

"Messere!" she exclaimed in mock-outrage. "I'll have you know I am an engaged woman!" She slipped another bit of bread between his lips.

"And who is this lucky man?" he asked, playing along with her little game. In this moment, Fenris did not understand why he had ever believed Danarius was stronger than his love for Hawke.

She set the tray down on the side table and crawled into the bed, straddling him. "That would be you," she said.

He settled his hands low on her hips and growled. "That is fortunate, because what I have in mind…"

Hawke's laughter filled the room as he showed her just what that was.

* * *

Hawke had decided the minute she woke up that this day would belong to her and Fenris alone. Bodahn was under strict orders to turn away all visitors and there was a satisfied smile on the dwarf's face as he asked her, "So Messere Fenris will be staying?"

"Oh yes," she'd replied, and smiled happily. "He's staying."

And then there had been the sweet rolls. Yum.

So it was with some reluctance that she brought up the one last thing that was niggling at her mind. She had considered waiting until some later time to bring it up, but it continually yapped at her, so she decided to get it out of the way and have it done.

"Fenris," she said, and reached up to wipe a bit of bread from the corner of his mouth. "Can I ask you something?"

"Hmm," he growled trying to capture her fingers with his mouth. When he succeeded there was a long delay before Hawke spoke again.

"Yes, um," she said trying to gather her thoughts. He was so _distracting_. "I'm curious," she tried again only to have his wandering fingers fluster her even more. "Stop that!"

"As you wish," he said as he granted her command, and for a moment she was sorry she'd said anything.

"I need to know why you never told me you found your sister," she said quickly. _There, it was on the table._

"Oh, that," he said, and Maker if he didn't use that old, bored tone she hadn't heard in so long.

"That," she confirmed, and the serious expression she put on her face was not an easy task, considering the way he was looking at her.

"It is simple matter, really," he said, continuing on in that same tone.

"Simple, is it?"

"Yes," he drawled, but then his humor vanished as quickly as it had come, his eyes turned thoughtful and he lifted his hand to her cheek. "I wanted to have something to offer you," he said. "My past, a family…" There was a deep sadness lurking in his expression. "I did not want to disappoint you with false hope."

"Protecting me again, were you?" she said and smiled. That little voice in her head finally shut up, and her heart melted a little bit more knowing that his motivations were as much for her as for himself.

"I'm sorry," he said roughly, "sorry that…"

"Oh no you don't," she said and set her fingers to distracting _him_. "I have already told you that _you_ were the only thing I wanted." She smiled in satisfaction at his low groan. "That's still true."

"Hawke…" he said, but that was the last of their conversation for quite awhile.

* * *

Hawke was up to her neck in warm, sudsy water, silently blessing Sandal for her enchanted bathtub for perhaps the 100th time, when Fenris walked in, a goblet of wine in his hand.

"Thank you," she said, and accepted if from him with a smile.

He was looking down into the tub, everywhere but at her face as he replied, "It is my pleasure."

She stretched languidly and asked him, "Why are you dressed?"

"Hmm?" he murmured and finally looked up at her face. "Oh, yes. I am going to retrieve my _stuff_."

Hawke laughed and sat up. "Do you require help with this retrieving operation?"

"There's very little left," he told her. "Apparently I've been slowly…" he paused and then said, "My whetstone is actually all that's left." He grinned down at her unabashedly.

Hawke grinned back at him and said, "Is your blade so dull that you must have your whetstone tonight?" To tempt him she picked up the soap with her free hand and began lathering her right breast (his favorite, she knew) very meticulously.

"I…" He seemed hypnotized by her efforts. "What?"

She moved her hand lower and drew the soap along her stomach in slow circles. "Surely you don't expect a battle tonight?"

"No… I" His lids lowered and his expression turned predatory. "No."

Hawke allowed her hand to drift even lower, but she didn't get very far before Fenris took the soap from her and said, "Allow me."

What ensued caused Hawke's wineglass to slip from her fingers and shatter on the stone floor.

Needless to say Fenris did not retrieve his whetstone that night.

* * *

Hawke was happy - happier than she'd ever been. She thought to herself that perhaps this was so because she was curled so comfortably in the arms of the man she loved. She had known so much grief, so much sadness and loss, that she _felt_ this happiness more than she once might have done. Her life was a study in contrasts.

She exhaled a long sigh.

"Hawke?" Fenris asked. She had thought he was asleep. Her name said in just that way let her know exactly what he was asking.

"I am perfectly well," she told him. His only response was a brief tightening of his arms, which held her so perfectly.

It was her turn, but she had an actual question. "Fenris?"

"Yes," his voice growled in her ear.

"About this betrothal thing…" she began.

"Yes?" It was barely a word, more of a rumble.

Upon consideration, Hawke thought she probably had more like an hundred questions, but it was probably best if, for tonight, she only asked one. Or maybe two. "You don't want to do a big announcement thing, like Aveline and Donnic, do you?"

"No," he drawled without hesitation.

"Good," she said, her voice filled with relief. She hadn't thought he would, but it was good to know their wishes were the same. The thought of all of them at her at once… _Maker_, _no thank you_. Her second question was almost easier, because she had no preference, really, but she thought she would ask anyway. "When?"

Hmm, and that made her think of _where_. No, no she'd stick to just the two questions, wouldn't she?

Fenris finally formed a whole sentence. "Whenever pleases you," he said. "I am content." His arms tightened around her again, as if in emphasis.

"Yes," she breathed. "As am I."

He kissed her neck, and they settled into sleep.

**FROM THE JOURNAL OF VARRIC TETHRAS**

Well, we sure had a bloody party here a few days ago. Literally. A very bloody party, but the good news is that at the end of the night, one Tevinter Magister by the name of Danarius was dead.

You wouldn't have thought it was good news by the look on the elf's face when he left here. Let me see, what's a good word…? Let's go with… _devastated_. Yep, that works. It might have had something to do with Fenris' pretty little sister betraying him, or it might have been the fact that he'd apparently won those weird tattoos of his as some sort of prize. Or maybe his sister was the prize? I'm not sure. It's a bunch of crazy Tevinter shit, and who can figure that out?

So the next day when I hadn't seen Hawke or the elf since they'd left here, I decided to take a stroll on up to Hightown and check on them. I still miss the days when Hawke had her room right around the corner. Good times.

When I finally made my way up to her estate and Bodahn answered the door, I was a bit miffed. Why, you ask? That dwarf stood stodgily in my way and proclaimed, "Mistress Hawke is accepting no visitors today, Messere Varric."

"What?" I asked. "You're shitting me." And I made to move past him.

He stepped in my path and shook his head.

"Come on Bodahn," I said, but he only looked at me sternly.

"Is she all right?" I asked.

But before he could answer there was a delighted squeal from inside, followed by running footsteps and Hawke's lilting laughter. I looked at Bodahn, and I think I might have lifted one eyebrow as I asked, "Been going on all day?"

"As you say," he replied, and his cheeks looked like two ripe, red apples.

"Heh heh," I chuckled. "No bruises or broken bones?"

"No, Messere," he replied, and I could tell he was holding back a smile.

"Lots of squealing and laughing?" I persisted.

"Exactly so," replied Bodahn.

"Well, that's all right then," I said, and with a slight bow I turned to leave, but Bodahn stopped me with a hand on my arm.

"Messere Varric," he said in a low voice.

"Yes?" Now my curiosity was peaked. You can sometimes get the most interesting information from that dwarf.

He leaned in close and whispered, "They are betrothed."

I was speechless for a full minute at least. I think I set a new record for Tethras speechlessness. "No shit," I finally said.

Bodahn only grinned.

"Excuse me, Bodahn," I said happily. "I have rumors to spread, and I best get to it."

You should have been at the Hanged Man that night, let me tell you.

Truthfully, I think I'm still in shock. I would have bet my last sovereign against this ever happening. Epic love story sure, but a wedding? I shudder to think that if someone had offered me that bet, I would have taken it. I could be a pauper right about now.

I wonder if we'll get some broody babies out of it? You never know.

**FROM THE JOURNAL OF VARRIC TETHRAS**

Everyone knows I'm a risk-taker – that's how this whole story began. I took a risk on Hawke. Which means everyone also knows that with very few exceptions, my risk-taking pays off very well, indeed.

So when I arranged for a surprise betrothal party for Hawke and her elf, I knew I was taking a risk – a big one – and it wasn't just that I might piss off Hawke so much she might stop speaking to me, but there was also the distinct possibility I could lose a vital organ.

I let a few weeks go by after I got the word from Bodahn. The hardest part was keeping everyone quiet, especially after I had spread rumors all over Kirkwall. Hawke had even asked me why everyone was always staring at her. I told her it was her heart-stopping beauty (no exaggeration there), but she gave me that look of hers that told me I wasn't fooling anyone.

Those few weeks I walked on a whole lot of eggshells, let me tell you.

When the night of the party finally arrived, the whole thing almost fell through when Hawke and the elf didn't show up for our weekly game of Wicked Grace. I ended up having to send Rivaini up to her estate to lure them out. Seems as if they had better things to do than play cards, but Rivaini convinced Hawke to come out with some story about Castillon (which turned out to be somewhat prophetic, but I'm getting ahead of myself).

When Hawke and her elf walked through the door and saw everyone gathered around and the place decked out in streamers and bunting, she looked at me through narrowed eyes and said in this tight little voice, "It's not my name day, Varric."

That's when the musicians began to play the traditional Ferelden Wedding March, and Hawke's expression turned thunderous. The elf just stood there watching Hawke and he looked quite confused. I guess he didn't know the song.

Hawke marched right up to me and said, "What have you done, Varric?"

I stammered a little bit then said, "Congratulations, Hawke?" and it came it like a question.

Fenris asked, "What is this?" in that snarly way he has.

Without taking her eyes off me she told her elf, "Apparently Varric is throwing us a party."

"Why would he do that?" asked the elf, and now I had two people with thunderous expressions staring me down.

"A good question," she said. "Why don't you enlighten Fenris, Varric?"

I had a choice in that moment. To prevaricate and try to save my ass, or to bluster on through like this was the best idea I ever had. Care to guess which one I chose?

I smiled for all I was worth, took Fenris by the hand and shook it, saying, "Congratulations, elf!" I followed this with a boisterous laugh then added, "I always said you were one lucky son of a bitch."

"Who told you?" Hawke asked, but then the bedlam began. Everyone surrounded us, and shook the elf's hand and pulled Hawke into congratulatory hugs. Although it might have just been a convenient excuse to hug Hawke, you never know.

I think there was a trickle of sweat running down my face, but I ignored it and signaled to Corff to start the ale flowing. For the moment I was simply glad I still had all my organs.

I noticed Hawke slip her arm through the elf's, lean into him, and whisper in his ear. That was when I knew I was safe because his expression cleared and he nodded once.

Whew.

"I will talk to you later, dwarf," she said to me before she plastered a smile on her face and moved off into the crowd. Of course she kept the elf close to her side.

I set about keeping my mouth shut and my eye on the action.

The first piece of action that caught my eye was Rivaini. Heh – she's always good for action, our Rivaini. I wasn't surprised when she planted a big kiss on Hawke (who is used to this by now and only smiled), but _Andraste's ass_ she turned around and planted one on the elf! I'm not shitting you! I'll give him credit, he didn't draw his sword or start the glowing bit, but he did, well, _remove_ her very quickly. I saw her feet leave the floor as he set her away from him and ran the back of his hand over his mouth. Rivaini's laughter filled the whole room after that. It was priceless.

There were a couple of sad faces in the room that night. Choirboy just kept watching Hawke with these big puppy dog eyes. I remember when the elf's eyes used to look that way many moons ago. I'd bet my last sovereign Choirboy was thinking of our Lady Sunshine, and there is just enough family resemblance that I'm sure Hawke was a constant reminder of who wasn't in the Hanged Man that night (I did ask Cullen, but things in the Gallows are powder-keg tense these days, and I got a simple one word answer: No).

I'll give you one guess who the other sad face belonged to. Correct: Our resident possessed mage. Poor Blondie. He had a thing for Hawke from the very first. Over the last few years he seemed to have accepted her affections were directed elsewhere, but I don't think the poor sot will ever like it. And lately? Blondie's has taken up the broody crown and he's wearing it like he's king of all moodiness. I don't know what's going on with him, but he's never any fun anymore. He used to be my best partner when it came to Mage/Templar jokes. These days he just says "Not now, Varric," and mopes away.

I watched as he walked up to Hawke, took her hand and lightly kissed her cheek. "Congratulations, Hawke," was all he said. He never even looked at the elf, who stood there with a stone face until Blondie moved away. Hawke looked a little sad for a minute there, but then Merrill came up to her and started chattering away about Elvhen weddings.

I heard Daisy say, "Will you be married in the Chantry, Hawke?"

To which Hawke replied, "We really haven't made any plans yet, Merrill."

"Oh," Daisy went on, "because I've never known an elf and human who… well… you know, got married and I was just wondering if all humans had to be married in the Chantry."

Before Daisy's sentence could get any longer, Hawke told her. "I don't think it's a rule, don't worry Merrill."

"Oh, I wasn't worried…" but I lost the rest of what Merrill was saying when this gang of mercenaries tried to force their way into the bar.

Aveline and Donnic had them dispatched before the rest of us could even react.

Those two, let me tell you, they're quite the pair. Aveline has become very popular in Kirkwall, and she's got the absolute loyalty of the City Guard, beyond question. I think Donnic had a lot to do with that. Aveline may be one tough lady, but she's got one big heart to go with it. She just needed somebody to love (insert big, sappy moon eyes here).

The rest of the night went along quite well. I guess the only other thing worth mentioning was when everyone began banging their mugs on the table shouting "Hawke! Hawke! Hawke!" Nobody was shouting Fenris' name, and I'm sure that's because they are all as fond of their organs as I am. _Hehe_.

Hawke took the hint and led her formerly broody elf into the center of the room. He'd been taking it all in pretty good grace considering, but I think he'd try to capture the moon and pull it down to the earth if it would make Hawke happy. Anyway, they put their arms around each other and Hawke leaned in for the kiss, knowing that these people would never shut up unless they got their show. I watched very closely, so I saw Hawke start to pull away after no more than a cursory meeting of lips, but apparently the elf had something else in mind. Maybe he just wanted to be sure that everyone there knew he'd finally staked his claim, I don't know. I do know what I saw. He dipped her down, leaned over and kissed her, and there was not one cursory thing about it. Hawke started to go all limp-like, and what did he do? He lifted her into his arms and started walking to the door!

"More manhandling," grumped Anders.

"Still loving it," I retorted.

As soon as the door closed behind them the applause began. I don't know if those two heard or not, but that's not important. What is important is that I not only survived the night, but I had avoided a _conversation_ with Hawke that I was glad to postpone. I figured the next time I saw her, her anger would have significantly subsided, and I was right.

She came to the Hanged Man the next day all by herself, sat down in her favorite chair and said, "What am I going to do with you, Varric?"

"Well," I said, "you're betrothed now, so that limits the possibilities quite a bit." I grinned at her.

"I haven't decided yet if I'm inviting you to the wedding," she countered.

"Try to keep me away," I said.

"Hmph," Hawke grunted. "I doubt I could, knowing you."

That was when the elf strolled in through the door. Yes, it was definitely a stroll, and I admit that I got a little nervous right about then. Especially after he strolled over to where I sat and just stood there looking down at me with no discernable expression on his face.

Hawke's face was very readable. Her expression was so smug she could have out-smugged all the nobles in Kirkwall.

"Elf…" I said, then thought better of it and said, "Fenris."

"Varric," he said, and the way he drawled it out had the back of my neck prickling.

"Nice party, huh?" I said, attempting to lighten the suddenly very heavy mood. I couldn't quite pull of the grin I wanted. I'm afraid it was more of a grimace.

"Was it?" he replied, and then the elf started to glow.

In all the years I'd known him, I'd never seem him do that. Oh, I'd seen him turn all blue with the lyrium going crazy under his skin, but he'd always been really angry, or at least in battle. He was utterly composed and, I'll admit, that shit was scary.

That bead of sweat started forming on my brow again, I could _feel_ it. "Yes, well…" I began, and if I'd had a collar, I would have been pulling at it. Since I don't, I felt the need to suddenly scratch at my chest hair… right above my heart.

Add to that, I couldn't think of a thing to say. This speechless thing was getting out of hand.

Just as that little drop of moisture began to slide down my temple, the elf grinned at me and those weird tattoos went back into hibernation mode. "What was that?" I croaked. I hadn't meant to speak; it just sort of popped out.

"Fair warning," replied the elf, a smirk on his face.

Point taken. Still, I don't regret a thing, but I'd never tell them that. I'll just let them go on thinking I'm all contrite – it's better for my health that way.

* * *

_Meredith_, Hawke fumed. Just who did that woman think she was? She wanted to show Hawke how serious the rogue mage problem was? Like Hawke wasn't out on the streets every day dealing with the consequences of the Knight Commander actions? A Knight Commander who was squeezing the city like a big fat juicy orange. _Maker_.

Hawke stomped down the steps to the dock and began to wait for the boat that would return them to Kirkwall city proper.

"You all right, Hawke?" asked Varric.

"Ha!" she replied. "Just peachy." She couldn't seem to stop her foot from tapping out a cadence on the cold stone.

"You were right to agree to help the Knight Commander, Hawke," Aveline said.

"What choice did I have?" Hawke asked, and her fury simmered just below the surface. "You heard her veiled threats toward Bethany."

"She wouldn't…" Aveline began, but Hawke turned an angry eye on the Guard Captain, who thankfully shut up.

"That tranquil mage, Elsa…" Hawke said and it took everything she had to keep her voice even. "I could only see Bethany standing there."

The calm, unspeaking presence of Fenris beside her was the only thing that kept her from a full-blown rant. Considering his past with mages, with magic, she was more than grateful for his silence.

The boat was ready and the four climbed in and took their seats.

"Let's get this over with," was all Hawke said.

* * *

It took several days for Hawke to sort out Meredith's mess with the runaway mages, and in the end two of them were dead and the third was no longer a virgin. The only good news was that of the three, the deflowered mage turned out _not_ to be a blood mage. She knew that things were getting really bad when that was her good news.

Poor Nyssa dead, and those children in Darktown… Hawke wanted to blame the whole thing on Meredith, and although her opinions had not changed about the Knight Commander's methods, she also could not understand why so many mages fell to temptation.

She was so heartsick that she tried talking to Fenris about it.

"What makes them do it?" she'd asked.

"In my experience that kind of power is nearly impossible to resist," he'd answered.

"But demons?" she'd questioned. "It seems a no-brainer _that_ would end badly every time." She couldn't help it, she thought of Merrill and her troubled heart felt a new thrill of fear.

"You would think so," he'd replied. "Perhaps it is the hubris that they will be the exception to the rule."

"Perhaps," she'd said, but her worry did not ease.

That night when Donnic came to the estate for his weekly card game with Fenris, Hawke made her excuses and went out to find some answers. She wanted to talk to Anders.

* * *

_Wonderful_. She walked in on Anders and Aveline in the middle of a heated argument. The Guard Captain stomped off, and barely glanced at Hawke.

Anders said, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean for you to see that. I have to be careful now that the Knight Commander has basically appointed herself Viscount."

Hawke tried to lighten the mood. "Between ruling the city and torturing mages, it's a wonder she has time to keep that sword so shiny."

Anders, however, would have none of it. "The mage underground is all but destroyed and those left are turning to blood magic as their only option, which Meredith _knows_ will prevent any chance of the public taking their side."

"You don't think that kind of proves her point?" Hawke asked.

"The Blight was stopped only with the help of two mages – one an apostate! But it doesn't matter. The Chantry set us on this path long ago. It will take something truly catastrophic to change people's thinking now."

Hawke did not want to pursue that line of thinking, so instead she asked him what she'd really came for.

"Anders…" she said softly. "Anders, what made you join with Justice?"

"I've told you, Hawke," he said wearily. "He was trapped outside the Fade and I wanted to help him. We both wanted to aid the cause of mages."

"But surely you had misgivings," she said. "Joining with a demon…"

Anders interrupted her and said abruptly, "Justice is not a demon."

Hawke sighed. "I admit I know little but for the whole Maker's First Children story, but you must have been concerned that you would no longer be yourself. That you might make choices…"

"What are you saying, Hawke?" Anders looked at her intently.

"You've always been opposed to blood magic, I know this, Anders. But how could you have been sure that the spirit would not corrupt you? Tempt you into…"

Anders rubbed a hand over his face. "Yes," he said and sounded so tired. "Yes, I did worry at first."

"I cannot understand," Hawke said beseechingly. "What really made you do it?"

Anders was quiet for so long that Hawke began to doubt he would answer her at all. When he finally spoke, he seemed more a broken man that a vengeful spirit of Justice. "I wanted the power – the power to do good. To help people." He shook his head sadly. "On my own I was just another apostate running from the Templars, but with Justice…"

"So it is about power…" Hawke said. Fenris was right to a degree, but she didn't think it was hubris for all mages. Some of them may have began with better motives, but… She looked at this man, this _mage_, before her in a new light. She suddenly understood that it wasn't going to end well for Anders, either.

"Power can be used for good or for ill, Hawke," he said simply.

"I think," she said softly, with as much kindness as she could garner, "I think that people are not meant to join with such powerful forces." Hawke remembered her father, so strict in his training with Bethany. Strictest of all when it came to having any contact with demons. She said, "I'm sorry for you Anders."

"Are you?" he asked. "Then perhaps… perhaps you will help me."

* * *

By the time Hawke arrived home that night, she was soul-weary. Fenris took one look at her and said, "I will draw you a bath."

Maker bless her elf.

Once she was done and was wrapped in her soft robe, she found Fenris in the library reading.

"How much coin did you win off of Donnic?" she asked him as she curled up in the chair by the fire.

"Only fifty silvers," he said, and set his book down. "Donnic had a good night." He studied her face for several long minutes before he came over to her and offered his hand.

Hawke took it and allowed him to pull her to her feet. "What is it?" she asked.

"Only this," he replied, sat down in the chair she had just vacated, and tugged her onto his lap. He curled his arms around her. "I missed you," he said.

She rested her head on his shoulder and told him, "If this is the result, I should go out on my own more often."

"I'd prefer you did not," he growled, and Hawke couldn't decide if he were serious or teasing her.

Really, it didn't matter. It felt so good to be in his arms.

* * *

"The sewers?" Varric exclaimed. "You're kidding, right?"

"Unfortunately not," replied Hawke.

"What's Blondie up to?" Varric persisted. "Or is it Justice running the show these days?"

Hawke sighed. She seemed to be doing a lot of that lately. "Anders says there's a potion that can separate him from Justice. The ingredients can only be found in the sewers and at the Bone Pit." She shook her head. "If you ask me the whole thing is sketchy, but I want to help him if it's even remotely possible he can be free again."

"The Bone Pit?" Varric also shook his head. "This just keeps getting better."

"My thoughts exactly," said Fenris.

"Will you come?" she asked the dwarf. "I'll forgive you completely for the betrothal party."

"And I'm invited to the wedding?" he asked with a grin.

"Yes, yes," Hawke replied, impatiently.

"I'm in," said Varric more happily than Hawke could imagine feeling, consider what they were about to do.

"I need to check up on the Bone Pit, anyway," Hawke said as they made ready to leave. "Hubert said something about trouble out there.

"If there is trouble, it always finds you, Hawke," Varric said.

* * *

When they reached the Bone Pit, the dead and mangled bodies of the miners, along with the stench of burnt flesh, had all of them on the point on retching.

Hawke managed to choke out, "There's nothing we can do for the poor sots now." She covered her hand with her mouth before adding in a muffled voice, "Let's get your drakestone, Anders, then we can have a look around."

"Great," Varric said, "dank, dark and dangerous caves. What could be better?"

After several hours, they exited the cave with a full sack of drakestone. Varric was grumbling under his breath about how it had perfectly lived up to his expectations, when a furious piercing roar echoed from the sky.

"Makers balls, what was that?" Varric said and scanned the air above them for the source of the sound that had nearly punctured his eardrums.

"Dragon," said Hawke. "Very large Dragon," she repeated and pointed to a spot in the sky.

Hawke began to run, and despite his shorter legs, Varric thought he better keep up with her. Safety in numbers and all that. Or maybe safety in Hawke.

The ground shook when the High Dragon landed, and for a moment all he could do was stare. He would have happily gone all his born days without seeing a monster like this, and although he was no coward, his first thought was to get out of there as fast as he could. But then a lyrium-lit Fenris let loose a roar of his own and Hawke was yelling, "Spread out!"

_Andraste's ass_, they were going to fight this thing. He started running for higher ground and felt the edges of the blast of heat that would have hit him if he hadn't moved. When he turned and raised his crossbow he shouted, "Make it count, Bianca!" And from that point forward his only thoughts were to hit the giant, nasty dragon and to stay alive.

The fight went on what for what seemed like forever, and Varric was pretty sure his chest hair was completely singed off at that point. Blondie and his healing spells had saved his ass more than once, but he'd lost sight of the mage after those stupid dragonlings had come pouring out of everywhere at once. He sure hoped Blondie was all right.

Varric nearly lost his lunch when the dragon clamped its jaws down on the elf and lifted him into the air. The monster shook Fenris back and forth as if he were no more than a rag doll.

He heard Hawke's scream and then suddenly she was climbing up that thing's back! He wanted to shout, to tell her to stop – but even if she could have heard him over the roaring of the dragon and the beating of its massive wings, he knew she would keep right on going. That thing had her elf.

Suddenly Fenris flew through the air, but also the blue-white light of a healing spell shot at the elf. Varric didn't know where to look there was so much going on, but then he heard Hawke scream again, and watched as she brought both of her daggers down into the dragon's skull. If that wasn't heart-stopping enough, Hawke then flew through the air doing those crazy somersault moves of hers, and the dragon was also falling, falling, falling…

It took nearly a month for his chest hair to grow back.

* * *

When Hawke and Fenris finally returned home, bone-tired and covered in dragon's blood, they had a visitor waiting for them: Isabela.

"Do I need to change the locks again?" Hawke teased. For some reason only known to herself, Isabela loved breaking into Hawke's estate to "borrow" things.

Isabela laughed, "I'll have you know Bodahn let me in this time."

Fenris continued on his way upstairs, and she watched him enter the bathing chamber longingly.

"You smell really bad," said Isabela.

"You don't like it?" Hawke quipped. "And here I thought dragon's blood was all the rage this year."

"Killed a dragon without me, did you?"

"A High Dragon out at the Bone Pits," Hawke confirmed as she began to unstrap her very smelly armor.

"Why am I not surprised?" Isabela asked without much concern. "Listen, Hawke, I need your help."

"I can only pray there's time for a bath, first," Hawke said.

"We don't have to go tonight, silly goose," said Isabela. "But soon. It's Castillon, he's back and I'm not waiting for him to find me."

So the plan was made to go to the Blooming Rose the next morning in search of a man named Velasco.

The plan - a fake betrayal and Isabela as bait – actually sounded like a bit a fun to Hawke.

When she finally made her own way upstairs for her bath, she found a clean Fenris waiting for her with a freshly drawn tub.

This living together thing was working out really, really well in Hawke's opinion. She smiled as he helped her off with her armor. Though it had been a very long day, fraught with peril and danger and a lot of frustration – it was all worth it when she could end it in this way.


	30. Chapter 29

"I hate it when you're right," Isabela told her before stalking off.

In that moment, Hawke didn't care if Isabela wanted to have her little hissy fit. Castillon was dead. A _slaver_ was dead. That was good enough for Hawke. Isabela would come around – she always did. Hawke smiled to herself; she had to admit punching her pirate friend had been the tiniest bit satisfying, like a final payback for the whole Qunari relic thing.

Now they were headed for the Hanged Man, not to find Isabela, but because Hawke really wanted a drink.

"No ship for Isabela," Fenris said, and Hawke thought he heard the smallest bit of glee in his voice. Dead slavers always made him happy.

"Do a girl a favor and what do you get?" Hawke said with a shrug of her shoulders.

"Apparently you do not get a thank you," Fenris replied.

"Speaking of favors, Hawke," Varric chimed in.

"You too, Varric?" she asked.

"Yes, me too Hawke," Varric said ruefully. "I know this is ancient history, but remember the Hightown house Bartrand barricaded himself in?" he asked as they were making their way up the long steps to Lowtown. "I've been trying to get rid of the place for ages now."

"I can only imagine there's a huge market for the homes of deranged killers," Hawke said.

"The creepy sort of people who are interested are generally not the type that have the coin to take it off my hands," Varric told her.

"No complaints about the corpses in the hall?" Hawke asked.

Varric shook his head. "I found a minor noble in Rivain who bought the place sight unseen," replied Varric. "But now there's a problem." They'd finally reached the Hanged Man and he stopped to open the door and wave Hawke and Fenris inside before adding, "They say the place is haunted."

Varric motioned to Norah to bring them some pints before they went up to his rooms. "They've noticed voices, apparitions, things moving around on their own…" When they reached the long table where they'd gathered so many times before, he sat down with a little huff. "My hope is it's something Bartrand brought back from the Deep Roads – we smash it and the haunting stops."

Hawke waited for Fenris to sit down and then chose his lap instead of the seat next to him. She smiled as she felt his hand curved around her waist. "I'm not an expert on hauntings, but what if _smashing_ something doesn't fix the problem?"

"Ah," Varric breathed. "That's where things get tricky. You come from a family with magic, Hawke. You must have experience dealing with the… weird."

Norah brought the pints and Varric took a long pull on his before continuing. "I'm sure you'll be able to figure out something that will help."

"All right, Varric," she said. "We'll investigate the mansion… again."

"Thanks, Hawke. I knew you wouldn't let me down."

* * *

Why Hawke had thought it a good idea to bring Merrill along to Bartrand's haunted mansion, she could not say. Perhaps it was because, with the frequent blood mage trouble in Kirkwall these days, the young elf had been on her mind a lot lately. Merrill spent entirely too much time locked in her house with that weird broken mirror, so a nighttime jaunt had seemed perfect.

It wasn't as if Hawke hadn't known Merrill was flighty, but she'd taken her flightiness to a whole new level as she squealed and screeched every time a door slammed or a vase floated by. Merrill had even went so far as to plead with the spirits to stop!

_Maker_.

And, to top off her fantastic evening, Varric had gone completely crazy on her. She'd thought their troubles were over once they'd destroyed the ghostly golem, but no – the blighted thing had left behind a shard from the idol. Varric had shocked her when he'd said he wanted to keep the blasted thing. He'd insisted he needed it!

It was the only time in all the years she'd known him that Varric had made her afraid - mostly afraid _for_ him, but also a little bit afraid _of_ him.

He'd finally relented and she'd given the strange piece of lyrium to Sandal, hoping he could destroy it. But that boy had other ideas, and by morning he'd handed her a rune, one he'd apparently designed himself. Set on her dagger the blade seemed to have a life of its own, and she'd taken to calling her previously unnamed dagger _Speedy_.

Poor Varric had been very contrite, but Hawke thought it was a near miss that both the Tethras brothers hadn't ended up in that Sanitarium. Varric was like family, and even the thought of losing him made her heartsick.

Yet, that wasn't the end of her night, oh no. She'd walked Merrill home to the alienage, and before she could say goodnight, Merrill was asking Hawke to come with her to Sundermount. Her mirror would not work. The demon who'd helped her was suddenly silent. _Maker_ what a mess.

Hawke had agreed to accompany her, but she was praying for all she was worth that the Keeper could at last convince Merrill to give up this path. Otherwise? Hawke might have to kill her friend.

* * *

_Balls_.

The Keeper dead: self-sacrificed to her First.

Merrill distraught - exiled from her clan.

The good news? The demon was dead and the _Eluvian_ smashed to bits by a grief-stricken Merrill.

"I don't know what to do," Merrill said, choking back a sob. "What will I do?"

"First off," Hawke said gently as she took Merrill by the arm, "you will move away before your feet are shredded by this broken glass."

She didn't resist as Hawke guided her out of the room.

"Why didn't I see, Hawke?" she cried. "All this time I thought I could help them… save them…"

"I'm sorry, Merrill," Hawke said. She recalled her recent conversation with Anders, and now here was Merrill enduring the consequences of her pride. She had sought to help others by abusing a power was corruptive by its very nature. Hawke thought in this case, perhaps it had been hubris.

_I know what' I'm doing_, Merrill had once told her.

"The Keeper wouldn't want you to beat yourself up over this – she'd want you to learn from it." Hawke put an arm around her thin, trembling shoulders. "You're still alive, thanks to the Keeper. Do not allow her sacrifice to be wasted."

This set Merrill into a new fit of sobbing. "She's gone… she's really gone." Merrill covered her face with her hands. "My people will kill me if I return to them," she choked out. "My whole life has already been wasted."

"The plight of the elves has not changed, Merrill," Hawke said. "Surely you can use the knowledge you've gained to help them in other ways."

"What do you mean?" Merrill said looking up at her with her large, liquid eyes.

"You cannot recreate a past that is long dead, my friend," Hawke said, "But you can do your best to create a better future."

"Perhaps… perhaps you're right," Merrill said and wiped at her tears. "Even here in the alienage, the plight of my people is grim."

"Exactly so," said Hawke.

Merrill stood looking at her for long moments, the struggle in her lovely face apparent. Finally she said, "Thank you, Hawke. I don't know why you've stood by me for so long. You're a true friend."

Hawke thought of her father in that moment. _There are many different kinds of magic in the wide world, Mari… Yours is of the heart._ She said, "Because friends stand by each other, Merrill. And if they fall, well, we help each other find our feet again." Then Hawke smiled at her and added, "Just do me a favor and learn a healing spell or two."

Merrill returned her smile sheepishly. "It's past time, isn't it?"

"Long past," Hawke agreed.

* * *

Hawke had been hoping for at least a few days of peace and quiet. She'd thought about taking a leaf from Bartrand's book and barricading her and Fenris in the estate for a few days. Their all too brief time together after they'd killed Danarius seemed like years ago now. But apparently in Kirkwall these days, it was all crisis all the time.

"A letter came for you while you were out," said Bodahn upon her return home.

The letter was from Knight Captain Cullen. The gist of it was there were complaints about Aveline, and Cullen was giving her a chance to investigate instead of just removing the Guard Captain from her post.

"Can you believe this?" she asked Fenris shoving the letter at him.

After reading it he said, "This is surprising. In my experience Aveline conducts herself honorably – she seems beyond reproach."

"An opinion we share," said Hawke.

"What will you do?" Fenris asked.

"We'll take this to Aveline," she said indicating the letter. "Tomorrow." Hawke draped her arms over his shoulders. "Tonight I have other plans."

"What manner of plans are they?" he asked as he slid his hands up her back.

"Step one is the removal of this interfering armor," she purred, as she pressed soft kisses to his throat.

He began to unbuckle her armor and asked, "And step two?"

She whispered her answer in his ear.

Fenris replied hoarsely. "Your strategy is excellent, as usual."

* * *

_Jeven_. Of course it was Jeven. And now the former Guard Captain was dead, and the threat of a Templar take over of the City Guard dead with him.

Hawke watched Aveline with some pride as the guard rallied around her, Donnic's voice rose above the others.

"There isn't a man or woman here who wouldn't follow you through the void," he said.

Hawke thought that the way things were going in Kirkwall, they may have to do just that.

* * *

It had been more than a week since Hawke had seen Sebastian, so she decided a trip to the Chantry was in order. Her last letter from Bethany had been filled with anxiety over the conditions in the Circle – and also filled with remorse that visitors were no longer allowed in the Gallows for any reason.

"Please sister," Bethany had written in a letter discreetly handed to her by the Knight Captain, "reassure Sebastian that I am well, and let him know that he is always in my thoughts."

But she'd walked into an argument between the prince and the Grand Cleric. Sebastian was attempting to convince Elthina it was past time she took a stand against the maleficarum, and the Grand Cleric insisted her stance was already taken, and it was for _peace_.

As soon as she noticed Hawke, Elthina turned to her and said, "I would ask your help, Champion."

And so Hawke found herself at the Viscount's Keep that night, seeking out the mysterious Sister Nightingale. In an interesting turn of events, the left hand of the Divine turned out to be none other than Leliana, who had helped the Hero of Ferelden stop the Blight.

Now, added to everything else going on in her not-so-fair city, the threat of a holy war was in the mix.

The warning Leliana had brought to the Grand Cleric went unheeded. Elthina would not leave – she would not abandon her flock, much to the chagrin of Sebastian.

She pulled the prince aside after taking her leave of the Grand Cleric. "Sebastian," she said and handed him Bethany's letter. "I've had word from my sister."

Suddenly, Sebastian's whole demeanor changed as he took up the letter and quickly read through it. When he was finished he said, "That someone as pure and noble as Bethany should be caught between such forces…" His eyes closed as if he were in pain. "If only there was something…"

"Sebastian," Hawke said, laying her hand on his arm, "I must know… if things go badly…" She tried to convey her meaning without saying the words. "My sister will be my first priority."

Sebastian looked at Hawke for long moments, and his eyes reflected the torture of his soul. Finally he said, "I stand with you, Hawke – whatever comes."

That would have to be enough for now.

* * *

When the noble from Antiva had requested her aid to capture a dangerous assassin who was hiding among the Dalish, Hawke almost turned him down. She didn't like the look of this Nuncio person, and she didn't like the idea of hunting down an elf, no matter what he had supposedly done. It was thoughts of Fenris that decided her. He made no sign that he wished it, but Hawke remembered all too well his stories of being on the run – of being hunted.

And so she would rather be the one to decide if this _assassin_ was truly the criminal the Antivan _gentleman_ had implied.

**FROM THE JOURNAL OF VARRIC TETHRAS**

A little trouble in paradise always makes for an interesting story. Lately the tale of Hawke and her elf has been, well, not boring exactly but the waters have been too smooth, if you know what I mean.

So when Hawke agreed to hunt down a dangerous Antivan fugitive, I jumped at the chance to go with her. I needed story fodder, you see.

It was pretty much a normal expedition to Sundermount – dirt, rocks, more dirt - until we got to the that big cave where we'd once fought the varterral, and…

"I thought we already killed this thing!" Hawke shouted as she moved to attack the leggy monster.

"As long as it has something to guard, it's bound here!" Merrill shouted back as the she caste a wall of ice on the thing.

I almost forgot to mention the tricky part, where we snuck Merrill past the Dalish guards. Hawke sure has learned a lot from Isabela, I'll give her that.

"You could have told us that before it attacked, Daisy!" I shouted, and I let loose a flaming arrow from Bianca.

"Venhedis!" shouted Fenris and followed Hawke into the fight.

Everybody had something to say, apparently.

The next words I heard were after that crazy-assed creature was dead. Again.

"Now you, I wasn't expecting," a blond and well-armored elf said as he approached us. "How do you do? My name is Zevran Arainai, adventurer and occasional assassin."

I thought I'd heard of this guy. Something to do with the Hero of Ferelden.

Hawke's eyebrows shot up into her wispy bangs. Oh ho ho! Another handsome elf! I knew Hawke had a weakness for those.

Zevran went on, "I must admit I expected an assault by the Crows, not the mighty Champion of Kirkwall."

"How do you know I'm the Champion?" Hawke asked warily.

"Slayer of Qunari, Deep Roads explorer and a beauty to make the gods jealous?" His voice was the epitome of seduction – and Hawke was watching him with some interest. "You underestimate your fame."

I checked to see if the elf was brooding yet, and yes, there was definitely the beginnings of a scowl on his face.

Hawke said, "I thought you'd be taller."

"Ah, let me guess," Zevran said with a compelling grin. "A man named Nuncio has asked you do capture a dangerous killer, yes?" Zevran began to pace. "What did he say this time? That I killed his wife? Butchered his parents? Sold his children into slavery?" His grin grew wider. "Or did he tell you he was a lawman from Antiva charged with apprehending a ridiculously handsome fugitive?"

What Hawke said next had _my_ eyebrows shooting up, and my mouth hanging open.

She said, "He didn't mention how handsome."

_Uh oh._ Another peek at the elf revealed a full-blown scowl, but at least his tattoos weren't glowing… yet.

"So Nuncio and his… men are Crows?" she added really quickly. I saw her cheeks flush and wondered just where this was heading.

"Of course they are my dear Champion," Zevran said, now looking at our Hawke with a speculative gleam in his eye. "And they have been sent to capture a _former_ Crow," he gave a little bow, "because I killed their guild master and the last four assassins they sent after me."

"I don't like Crows," Hawke said.

I guess not, they'd tried to kill her twice, and if I'm the king of exaggeration, Hawke had just earned the title of queen of understatement.

"Well then, " Zevran said, "We are in agreement once again." And he winked at her.

"I'm not turning you over to them," she said, and now she sounded angry. "Not only because I don't like them, but because they lied to me."

"Then you may want to deal with Nuncio," Zevran said. "If you don't, he will only come after you."

"It wouldn't be the first time," she said, "but I take your point."

"Hmm, would you I wonder?" he asked in that come-hither voice.

"Would I what?" asked Hawke, and she sounded totally confused. I could hardly believe she didn't get it, but hey – she is a one-track Hawke when it comes to the romance department.

Zevran laughed heartily. "It's been more than a pleasure, my dear Champion," he said, and turned to go. "Fare you well."

After another trek through more rock and more dirt, we found the Antivan Camp.

Hawke walked right up to the head guy and said, "I let your assassin go. Was I not supposed to do that?"

"No one fails the Crows and lives!" shouted Nuncio, after a bunch of other stuff about being disappointed, blah blah blah…

I have to admit, though, it did sound really threatening in that Antivan accent of his.

But then Zevran turned up at the Crow camp, and I don't think any of us were really surprised.

"Ah, poor, stupid Nuncio," he said. "The Crows do like that saying, but I am living proof it is a lie." He turned to Hawke and said, "Why they insist on thinking they can kill people like you and the Warden, I will never guess."

Ah – so I was right about the Hero of Ferelden connection. Interesting. That's three of her companions showing up in Kirkwall in the last couple of months. Oh? Didn't I mention the meeting with King Alistair? No? Well, no time for that now…

"Let me tell you, it's a burden I bear on a daily basis," Hawke replied.

Some threats were made and some quips returned, but in the end it was a fight – what else? The Crows were tough, but they were also stupid to think they could take down Hawke. Third time was _not_ the charm. Despite a few impressive moves, soon they were nothing but Antivan corpses.

Elf number two said, "Excellent! It was oddly satisfying, killing my former brothers-in-arms." He began to dig into his belt pouch as he said, "I have little reward to offer you…"

But Hawke cut him off. "No need. I am perfectly satisfied…"

Then Elf number two cut her off, "Are you? Satisfied that is?" That speculative gleam was back in his eye. "Perhaps you would like to get to know each other better, Champion…" Zevran looked more than ready to drag her off behind the nearest bush, but of course, that's when elf number one decided to speak up.

"That depends," he said in full growl mode, "how much you wish to test that luck of yours."

For a minute we all just stood there, and I thought to myself, if elf number two doesn't back down… well there would only be one elf left standing and despite Hawke's strange behavior this afternoon, I knew who that would be.

"Ah, I see," Zevran said. "Fair enough then."

Hawke, wisely in my opinion, kept her mouth shut.

Elf number two waxed poetic about being off to wage wars in Antiva or something, and soon vanished into the hills.

So that's the story of what never happened, because by the time we were halfway back to Kirkwall, the way those two acted? It was just as if it never did…

* * *

Hawke was relieved that after her latest encounter with the Crows, the crisis level in Kirkwall seemed to have reached a state of détente – as temporary as it may be. And, of course, the minute the outside world did not demand her attention, it seemed that her home life began to shift.

It wasn't anything obvious; it was merely the odd way Fenris had taken to looking at her. Hawke would catch him watching her with such an ardent expression on his face that it made her uneasy. At first she'd thought maybe it was that elf, Zevran who had him worked up, but he didn't appear to be angry. Her cheeks flushed in remembrance. On the way back to Kirkwall she had done her best to apologize, but Fenris had surprised her by saying, "He uses seduction as a skill, just as you use stealth on the battlefield."

"You think so?" she'd asked, "because you know I would never…"

He'd taken her hand and said, "I know."

And she'd truly believed that was the end of it.

She'd considered asking him if anything were wrong several times, but the absolute lack of change in his behavior had her hesitating.

If anything, the ease with which he expressed his affection had increased. He seemed to always be touching her, even if it were just his hand sliding along her arm or a soft kiss on her forehead. There was little or no awkwardness as they adjusted to the routines of sharing a home, and the mornings she awoke in his arms were her favorite thing - except for the nights that preceded them.

No, there was nothing to suggest there was anything to worry about, and yet she felt there was… _something. _What it was she had no idea, and she so kept her silence and did her best to allow her trust in him to soothe her unease.

So it was that one evening he came to her in the library where she sat quietly reading. That same expression was on his face, that fixed look that she could not decipher, so she set down her book and simply asked, "What is it Fenris?"

He did not prevaricate but took the chair next to hers and held out a folded piece of parchment. "Will you read it?" he asked.

So she did.

_Leto,_

_I have agonized for weeks whether I should write this letter. I have no idea if you will even deign to read the words that I now write, and I cannot blame you if you choose not to. But if you are reading this, I thank you for even that small consideration. I do not deserve it._

_There is much that I would say to you, much that I could tell you of your past, our family, the history of our lineage. Yet I know not if you wish to hear these things from me. You gave me the chance to find out, and I used that chance against you to save myself from poverty and despair. I wish I had chosen differently. I wish I had trusted the man you are now, as I once trusted the boy I remembered. I believed that what Danarius had done to you was akin to the murder of my dear brother. Now I see that you were stronger than the Magister - that you have surpassed even my fondest memories of your strength, your courage and your mercy._

_Your friend was right. Allowing me to live was a just punishment. Now that I know what I have lost; that I might have had my dear brother returned to me, I live in constant regret. I called the Champion your friend, but I believe in my heart that she is much more than that to you. It was by her word that you stayed your hand. Knowing you as I once did, she must be more important to you than even Mother and I were when you were young. You never listened to us – always did what you thought to be best. The proof is that you entered the competition for those markings… we begged you not to._

_It is with that belief that I send you this token of our clan. It is a ring that has been passed down through the male line for countless generations. Mother wore this ring on a chain around her neck until her death several years ago, even though the magic of it ceased to function upon Father's death many years before. It was always meant to be yours to give to your love, your vhenan'ara… *_

_There is an old, rare magic on this ring. When placed upon the finger of your one true love, it will never leave her finger as long as you live. Only death breaks the magic. The legend says it was a gift from the Creators to our clan – a boon given for generations of perseverance and loyalty._

_Lastly, I pray that you will perhaps one day find it in your heart to forgive me, Leto. I know not whether we will meet again in this life, but please know that I will hold you dear in my heart, even as I regret what I did to you._

_Your sister,_

_Varania_

_The etching on the ring:_

_Vir Assan ~ Vir Bor'Assan ~ Vir Adahlen_

_Which means -_

_Do not waver ~ Bend but never break ~ Together we are stronger than one_

Hawke finished the letter and there were tears in her eyes as she looked up at Fenris. Now she understood his recent intensity, and her heart beat a quick rhythm in her chest as she realized what he meant to do. He would place the ring on her finger to see if the magic worked. To see if she was truly his one love.

Fear tried to build in her heart, but she pushed it away. She was not elven, would the magic work? Yet Hawke knew her heart, and she knew that it belonged to him whether the magic of the ring confirmed that or not. She looked into his eyes and she saw no doubt there. There was only that same way he'd been looking at her for days, since he'd received his sister's letter. And now she thought she could read that expression. It was love no longer hidden – the love her fierce warrior felt for her shining in his eyes. Why had it taken her so long to recognize it?

He stood before her and held out his hand. "Hawke," was all he said.

She lifted her hand and gave it to him. "Fenris," she whispered in reply.

The ring he held was of plain gold, the etched letters softly glimmering green - the color of his eyes.

Those eyes never left hers as he slipped the ring onto the third finger of her left hand.

She felt the warmth of it as the gold touched her skin, and the ring seemed to mold to fit the shape of her finger. She also felt something else, something that reminded her of the tingling touch of a healing spell… _magic_.

"Fenris," she said again, this time in entreaty.

He knew what she meant because he took the gold between his fingers and tugged.

It would not come off.

Fenris pulled her to her feet and wrapped her in his arms. Though no words of love were spoken, no vows taken, no promises made…. Hawke knew then that they were bound together now as few ever were, as few ever could be, and that only death would separate them.

*heart's desire


	31. Chapter 30

For long minutes it was all Fenris wanted – to hold his love in his arms. He knew these memories would be forever burned into his mind. Putting the ring on her finger, watching the expression on Hawke's face as it slid perfectly into place, and the way his heart swelled when he tugged at the gold band and it did not move.

In truth, he had not allowed himself to hope or to fear if the ring's magic would work. For many days the only feelings he had allowed himself were his feelings for Hawke. In fact, it was not hesitation in giving her the ring that had caused him to wait those days. No. It was the letter from Varania. He'd needed time to think, to consider what the letter meant to him, if it meant anything at all.

Could he forgive his sister? No, not yet. The wound was still raw, her betrayal a raging anger deep inside him. He decided that a significant amount of time would have to pass before he could consider such a thing. Yet, he had adjusted to so many new things these past years with Hawke, that he understood that with time, his feelings might change. He might someday find himself capable of the forgiveness Varania so clearly wanted from him – but it was not this day.

Once his mind was settled, he'd taken the letter and the ring to Hawke. It was not something he'd even considered withholding from her. He had given her his trust and it was hers from that day forward, no matter what.

But now – now, he had no words to express the exquisite perfection of this moment. Although he'd long known that Hawke was all he ever wanted in this life, this new bond was more than he'd ever dared hope for. It was a connection to his past, to his family, his clan – he was truly able to offer her something equal to what she'd always given him – which was… everything.

He had so completely surrendered into her embrace, Hawke's voice when she spoke nearly startled him.

"Fenris?" she asked.

Not trusting his own voice yet, he merely pulled back enough to look into her beloved face. She was so beautiful, as she had always been to him.

"Fenris do you…" she hesitated and he suddenly found himself fixated on her mouth – wanting to taste her, to feel the liquid warmth there.

"Fenris do you still wish to… marry?" she asked him.

It was so unexpected that he found himself grinning. Happiness flooded through him – and it was a giddy feeling. "Have you changed you mind?" he teased. He lifted her hand, the ring glimmering green and gold in the soft firelight.

"I only thought, I mean... it seems like we already are," she told him.

"Hmm, I suppose that is true," he said and considered his next words carefully. "And yet I find that I still desire it." He allowed himself the briefest taste of her lips before he added, "If you also wish it."

Hawke smiled then and gave him another sampling of her lips. "I would hate to deprive Varric of the chance to get drunk at our wedding."

"That would be cruel," he agreed and this time when he kissed her it went on for a long time.

"Well," Hawke said as she snuggled against him. "Let's start the honeymoon, anyway."

He chuckled. "Before the wedding?"

"Oh yes," she said, "and it's going to be a very long honeymoon, indeed."

Fenris thought that was his cue to lift her into his arms and carry her upstairs, which he did with some haste. His need of her, the intensity of his desire, was building quickly - building to a point of nearly unendurable urgency, and he briefly wondered if there was not some other magic on the ring. But soon he was lost in the feel and the scent and the taste of Hawke, and the thought slipped away.

* * *

Sebastian allowed the gentle rocking of the boat to soothe his tattered nerves as the small craft crossed the harbor to the Gallows. The Grand Cleric had agreed to send him to give the weekly sermon at the Circle in her stead. She'd done this even though he had not officially been reinstated in the Chantry. Truth be told, it had been many months since he had broached that particular subject with her. It was long past the time when his wishes were to reaffirm his vows. Now his only goal in this life was a certain dark-eyed mage who he was very much hoping to see this day. The letter he'd written her was folded into a small square and tucked securely in his belt.

He prayed the Maker would grant him the opportunity to give it to her.

* * *

When Bethany walked into the Gallows Chapel and saw Sebastian standing at the pulpit preparing to deliver the day's sermon, her heart literally missed a beat. For some time she could only stand and stare at him, soaking in every detail of his appearance. How hungry she'd been for the sight of him, and how starving she was for his touch.

It was Ella's hand at her elbow and her softly spoken "Bethany?" that finally prompted her into moving again. She took her seat on the hard bench next to the younger girl and felt her heart lift as Sebastian began to speak.

She could not remember a single word of the half hour sermon when it was over. She had simply allowed his voice to wash over her in soothing waves, bringing her a peace she had not felt for many long months.

Everyone was filing out now and still Sebastian stood on the raised dais as he rifled through sheets of parchment, and he glanced up at her discreetly as chance allowed. Bethany pretended to have trouble with her shoe so that she might delay her own departure as long as possible. She could feel the eyes of the Templar guards upon her, so when it was Sebastian's voice that sounded so close to her ear, she looked up with a start.

"Is there a problem Enchanter Bethany?" he asked politely, but the fire in his eyes burned into her soul.

"My shoe…" she said, "the laces…"

_Maker_, she didn't really know what she was saying, but he slid into the pew next to her and asked, "Do you require assistance?"

His hands on her ankle as he leaned down to inspect her laces set her leg to trembling. She was about to tell him it was fine now, when she felt him slip something into her shoe. A hard little… something, but she knew not what. Bethany forced a smile on her face and said, "Thank you, I believe you've fixed it."

"My pleasure," he said as he rose. He bowed to her briefly and then he was gone.

Bethany avoided the usual post-service luncheon by pleading a headache, and was escorted back to her small room. Once the door was shut and locked behind her, she listened to the receding steps of the Templar until he was gone. Her fingers shook as she removed her shoe to find a tightly folded square of parchment, and she was filled with anticipation as she opened it, eager to read his words. The writing was cramped and very small.

_My Love, Every day that passes in which I am denied the light of your smile, the lilting beauty of your voice and the soft touch of your hand, is a torture to me. I exist only for that day when we may finally be together – though I know not when that will be. I fear to say too much, but I must tell you – my dearest, most beloved Bethany – That it is for you alone I think and plan - you pierce my soul. Hold tightly to the surety and constancy of my undying love. S. *_

To protect them both, Bethany held the small bit of parchment over the candle flame until it was nothing but ashes. Her tears fell freely, but she did not despair. His love was all that she needed to see her through anything, and it was with her own constancy, her own unshakeable belief in their love, that she met the continued demands of her life in the Circle.

* * *

"What are you planning?" Hawke asked.

"I cannot tell you, for your own protection and mine," Anders replied. "I need you to do this for me, Hawke." He reached out to her but she stepped back. "Go talk to the Grand Cleric, distract her for me."

"I will not act blindly. If you want my help you will tell me why," she replied, her voice firm.

"If you are my friend, if you believe in the cause of mages, you must trust me," he insisted.

"Trust you?" Hawke asked, and there was real sadness in her voice. "I'm sorry Anders, if you will not confide in me, I will not help you."

"Then we are done," said Anders, and he turned away from her.

Hawke left Darktown with a heavy heart.

**FROM THE JOURNAL OF VARRIC TETHRAS**

Well, I finally got to see Sunshine again - but the circumstances? Not the kind I would have chosen for a reunion.

That Templar Thrask, well, I always thought he was a decent sort of guy, and may be was. Hard to say, really. But he'd gotten together with those Starkhaven mages and was plotting to overthrow the Knight Commander. It sounded good in theory, mages and Templars working together and all that, but the reality was… it was bad.

If it weren't for that Templar Keran, we might have lost our Sunshine. He's the one that told us that Thrask and his group had taken her hostage. The look on Hawke's face was… well I've seen that look a time or two and let me tell you, I never want to be on the receiving end of it. Almost worse was Choirboy. He turned completely white. It reminded me of that time the elf walked into the Hanged Man all covered in blood. Hawke had looked just that same way.

We all went down to the Wounded Coast. Well, all of us except Anders. I asked Hawke where he was and she just shook her head – she wouldn't talk about it. That put some fear in my heart, let me tell you. I've been worried about Blondie for quite awhile now – he seemed to be going off the deep end for months, and now I was afraid he'd fell off completely.

But we had other things to worry about right then.

When I saw Sunshine lying on the hard dirt that way… still can't talk about it really. Needless to say it all went to shit when that Starkhaven mage, Grace, decided that becoming an abomination was the perfect way to handle the situation.

It ended badly, of course. Grace killed Thrask and then we all killed Grace and most of the Templars and mages who'd joined their rebellion. Knight Captain Cullen showed up after the party was over and rounded up the survivors. That poor mage, Alain, he was able to wake Sunshine up, but only by using blood magic. _Maker_, what a mess.

I watched Hawke and Choirboy standing shoulder to shoulder as they took Bethany away, back to the Gallows. And when Sebastian's arm went around Hawke's waist, the elf didn't even scowl. In fact, he went up to Sebastian and put his own hand on Choirboy's shoulder. It was quite the sight.

Just a couple more things and then I think it's past time for me to get drunk.

We met Hawke's pretty little cousin the other day. Her name is Charade, and she's Gamlen's long-lost daughter. Thankfully, there is no family resemblance, there. She seemed a sweet thing, but tough. She and Hawke seemed to hit it off all right.

Last thing? I noticed something… strange the other day. I was having a drink with Hawke, and when her hand reached for her pint I noticed a new ring on her finger. Yes, _that_ finger. It had some kind of shiny green writing etched in the gold, but it was in a foreign language – elven I think - and I couldn't read it.

"Hawke, what's that?" I asked and pointed at the ring. "Did you go and have your wedding without me after all?"

She looked down at her finger and her face went all soft and happy, so I knew that the ring was from Fenris.

She said, "No wedding yet, Varric."

But no matter how hard I pressed, that's all she would say.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm feeling really thirsty.

**FROM THE JOURNAL OF VARRIC TETHRAS**

I don't know how much time I have, but I'll do my best to describe what happened today.

What happened today is that everything went to shit, and it went to shit fast, and it all began practically right outside my own front door.

Knight Commander Meredith and First Enchanter Orsino.

There, I've probably said enough to clue you in, because those two have been at each other's throats for a long time now, and there was Hawke, in the middle again.

Bad enough, but then Blondie showed up and made it so much worse. He blew up the Chantry. You heard me right, he started a war and on purpose.

I will never forget Choirboy dropping to his knees screaming, "Elthina, no!"

And of course, the Knight Commander decided that was just the perfect reason to slaughter every mage in Kirkwall. She demanded that Hawke stand with her, even though Sunshine was standing right behind Orsino. I don't have to tell you where Hawke told Meredith to shove it. So the Knight Commander told her Templars to kill us all.

That didn't work out for them.

Orsino left Blondie's fate in Hawke's hands and went to prepare the Circle for the fight against the Templars – that Right of Annulment thing. How can you annul _people_? This city has gone mad.

Hawke said to Blondie, "This was your plan?" And the heartache in her voice…

Blondie went on about how it was the only way, that he knew he was forfeiting his life, and that Hawke should kill him right then and there. He was so calm it was eerie.

Of course we all had our opinions on the matter, but in the end, I think Hawke couldn't bring herself to kill someone who'd saved all our lives so many times. Choirboy was none to happy when Hawke told Anders to get out, and I half expected him to put an arrow into Blondie's back as he ran off. All I can say is I'm glad it wasn't up to me. Who could make a choice like that? Somehow, Hawke did, and who knows if it was the right choice or not? I don't think she even knew.

But I heard Hawke say to the prince, "I owed him that, Sebastian, but that's all I owe him."

By the grim set of his mouth and the curt nod he gave Hawke, I'm hoping Blondie and Choirboy never meet again.

But, I'm taking too long to tell this story, so let's move on past our fight to get out of Lowtown and get straight to what happened at the Gallows.

Meredith, out of some kind of weird sense of honor, left us to prepare for our deaths, at least in her mind that's how I'm sure she thought we'd end up. Hawke used that time to talk to each one of us, but I can hardly remember what I said. Something about meeting destiny – I can be a bit dramatic at times.

I remember her tête-à-tête with Sunshine went on for what seemed like forever, and I remember the mini make-out session between Hawke and her elf. As soon as Hawke stepped away from her sister, however, Sebastian was right there pulling Bethany into his arms. I almost felt left out. No Hawke sister for me because apparently they were all taken, hehe. Thank the Maker for Bianca.

Later, I asked Aveline what Hawke and the elf said to each other before the kissing began.

"Varric," she said, "That's none of your business."

"None of yours either, but you were standing right next to them," I pointed out.

"No," she said.

"She said _No_?" I asked. "That's it?"

"Of course that's not what she said. Don't be foolish." Sometimes Aveline's sense of honor really irks me.

But, I am persistent if nothing else, so I said, "All right, but you're forcing me to write about that time I caught you and Donnic…" My sense of honor is very malleable – at least when it comes to getting a good story.

She was silent for a moment, but her cheeks turned really red. Finally she gave in. "He said, _Hawke, I love you – promise me you won't die, I could not bear to live without you._"

"Ooo, romantic," I said. "And what did she say?"

"She told him she loved him and that she wanted that promise from him, too." Aveline said, her cheeks still flaming.

"And then the kissing?" I asked.

"Yes," she replied. "Now go pester somebody else."

But I digress.

The first wave of Templars hit us hard, but they were soon dispatched. As a team, we are pretty amazing at this point - even I was impressed with us. But apparently Orsino wasn't, because he lost his shit completely and started spouting off about that serial killer Quentin, and his brilliant research and before we knew it he turned into this disgusting _THING_. I don't know how to describe it, but there were mage corpses all over him by the time he was done.

Funny thing is? Hawke threw up at the sight of him. That's right, she ran over and vomited behind one of the pillars.

Even so, Hawke, well, she fought like the Champion she is and we all survived that round, too. It was kind of cool watching her jump up on Orsino-monster's head and slam her daggers into its skull. Just like that High Dragon. Hawke's definitely got the moves.

It was a tough fight to get to the Gallows Courtyard but we made it, and there was Knight Commander Meredith waiting for us, of course. Just like the villain in any good story she said, "And here we are Champion, at long last."

Really, Meredith should have consulted with me first. I could have come up with a better line. How about, "Mwa ha ha, I'm going to kill you with my pointy cursed sword!" No? Heh, well anyway…

As you may have gathered by this time, it was Meredith who purchased the idol from Bartrand. She'd had it melted down and made into her shiny new sword, which certainly put her lunacy into perspective.

Knight Captain Cullen started arguing with the crazy Knight Commander that they were only going to _arrest the Champion_. She didn't agree, and Cullen _relieved her of her command_. Well, that set her off.

So another epic battle ensued, complete with giant slave statues come to life and lots of crazy, red-lyrium special effects from Meredith. That woman was flying through the air like mad – seriously I'd never seen anything like it, and Hawke's pretty good at it, you know?

It seemed like everyone Hawke had ever met and helped in Kirkwall showed up to the Gallows to fight with her – even elf number two showed up. You know, Zevran from Antiva? Guess he must have postponed his war, but who knows why he was still hanging around the City of Chains.

Shit. I'm running out of time here.

Maybe it's anticlimactic of me, but I'm pretty sure you already know who won the battle, because I'm sitting here writing this instead of dead or locked in the Gallows. Cullen and the other Templars let us leave, and thankfully we all survived.

It was a shame that Meredith wasn't taller, because Hawke wasn't able to jump on her head and do that trick with her daggers. In fact, I think it was her own sword that did her in.

The weirdest thing? At the end there, Meredith sort of caught on fire with red lyrium. Let me tell you, the screams were bad. What creeped me out the most, however, was that what was left of the Knight Commander afterward looked a little bit too much like a giant version of Bartrand's idol. I got a good look at it when first found it in the Deep Roads, you see. Was it an eerie coincidence or something more?

I just hope the Templars find some way to destroy it, but knowing human nature, they'll want to use to for the greater good or something. That always screws everybody, but they never seem to learn…

Any minute now they should all arrive back here with the supplies. Looks like we're going on a little road trip, just like old times. I have no idea where we'll end up, but the most important thing? We'll all be together.

* * *

_* Inspired by Captain Wentworth's letter to Anne Eliot in Jane Austen's Persuasion._

**_A/N Here ends Act III – we now move on to post game adventures :)_**


	32. Chapter 31

"Starkhaven?" asked Aveline. "You intend to reclaim your throne, after all then?"

"If it is possible, yes," Sebastian said. "In times of war the people need a strong ruler."

"Since when is Starkhaven at war?" asked Isabela.

"Rivaini," said Varric, "I'm pretty sure what happened in Kirkwall is going to provoke the Chantry into that Holy War they've been threatening."

"But wasn't the Circle of Magi in Starkhaven already destroyed?" asked Bethany.

"Yes," replied Sebastian, and his eyes softened as he looked at her. "It is being rebuilt, but what state it is in now, only the Maker knows."

Hawke had been listening to the debate for some time, and now she thought it was time to speak up. They were sitting around the campfire, two days out from Kirkwall. Their goal so far had only been to put some distance between themselves and the city. "Sebastian, weren't you thrown in the dungeons the last time you were there?"

He smiled at her. "I do not intend to stroll into the palace and proclaim myself ruler, Hawke."

"What is your intention, exactly?" asked Aveline, her brow furrowed in concern.

"About a day's walk from the city is an old hunting lodge my family kept in the country," he said. "This time of year it will be empty. From there we can make our plans." He looked around at each of them. "Perhaps I ask too much."

It was an easy decision for Hawke. She only need look at her sister to know that she'd do anything to help Sebastian create a life for Bethany. She said, "It's a good plan, Sebastian. You're right, Kirkwall is in chaos, but if we can bring some stability to Starkhaven…"

Varric snorted. "You and stability don't really go hand in hand, Hawke."

Hawke laughed. "Point taken," she said. "The stability part would be up to Sebastian, of course."

"The people of Starkhaven will rally," Sebastian said. "They once repelled a Qunari invasion, after all."

"Yes," Fenris said, joining the conversation at last. "During the Steel Age, wasn't it? It is a sore spot among the Magisters in Tevinter, that Starkhaven accomplished what they could not in Seheron."

Sebastian stood, looking every inch the proud prince. "I welcome the aid of any who would stand with me."

Their little group of survivors – Varric, Isabela, Aveline and Donnic, Merrill, herself and Fenris, and of course Bethany – all agreed, though Isabela seemed the most reluctant.

"We should have taken that deal with Castillon," she groused. "At least then we'd have a ship."

"Cheer up, Rivaini," Varric said. "I hear Starkhaven is full of fat, wealthy nobles. Think of all the pockets you can pick."

* * *

"This is… difficult," Fenris told Hawke. They were curled together in a shared bedroll – the hard ground unforgiving beneath them.

"Want to sneak off into the bushes?" she teased, and pushed a stray lock of hair from his eyes.

As tempting as the offer was, Fenris did not think it was safe. Despite the strength of his desire, his first priority was Hawke's welfare. Yet his need of her had seemed to increase dramatically this past month, ever since the day he'd given Hawke his ring. He would never have believed such a thing could be possible. He'd come to believe the ring must hold some other magic that Varania had not mentioned. Perhaps she had not known.

He tightened his arms around her and decided he would ask her, "Hawke, have you noticed any… strange effects since you've been wearing the ring?"

Hawke looked up at him so quickly, he knew that she had. She replied, "Actually, I have…"

His suspicions confirmed, he growled, "I never thought I could want you more than…"

But Hawke interrupted him with, "Lately I've been feeling queasy a lot," she said, and then added, "and I've thrown up several times."

"It is making you sick?" he asked with concern. He then remembered Hawke running off behind a pillar to vomit after Orsino had turned into that monster. Yet this was definitely not what he'd been expecting her to tell him now. The thought that the ring could not be removed caused him a moment of panic.

"I don't think I'm sick, Fenris," she said as she gazed seriously into his eyes.

"But if you are vomiting…"

"There are other reasons why women feel queasy and vomit," she said softly. "Other than drinking too much Aggregio, that is." Her hand reached up to his cheek. "Of course I don't know for sure…"

"Know what?" he asked, his thoughts consumed with how to make her well again.

"Oh Fenris," she said and gently kissed him. "It may be a symptom of a greater thing."

_A greater thing? What could she mean?_ Yet when the pieces of the puzzle fell into place in his mind, it seemed obvious. Of course he had seen this happen to women before, among the slaves in Danarius' household. Could it be possible? Hadn't she told him she took measures to prevent such a thing? He said, "A child? How could this be?"

"I was going to wait until I was sure, but I think perhaps your sister neglected to mention all of the ring's magic."

"Hawke, I…" He honestly did not know what he was feeling in that moment. Terror? Joy? Some mixture of both?

Her soft laughter soothed him somewhat. "It's all right, Fenris." She kissed him again. "There's nothing we can do now but wait."

"You are not upset?" he asked. He had never thought she would wish to have his child, but she sounded so calm – as if this monumental thing were perfectly normal.

"Why would I be upset?" she asked, and then grinned at him. "Although the timing might have been better."

"Hawke, if there is a child, it would be…"

"What? Half an elf?" she asked, her voice still filled with good humor. "You know me better than that, Fenris."

And she was right, he did. It was just something he had never considered as a possibility. "When will you know?"

"Well," she said, "I'll grow very fat and my ankles will probably swell."

"Hawke, be serious," he said.

"Not long," she told him. "If I skip my next monthly, I'd say that's proof enough."

"My love," he said hoarsely, "if you are with child, I promise you I will do my best..."

But she interrupted him with another soft kiss. "I know, Fenris," she said. "I know you will."

* * *

It was with some envy that Bethany watched her sister and Fenris as they lay together at the edges of the firelight. The two were wrapped in each other's arms, whispering and ocassionally sharing a kiss. Quite the opposite was Sebastian, an arm's length away from her and being so proper it was driving her mad.

She thought back to that last day in the Gallows when he'd pulled her into his embrace so fiercely and had kissed her so passionately. His words, said with such conviction, still echoed through her mind. "Bethany, my love, now we are together, let only death part us again." What had followed had brought them close to death several times, and what the First Enchanter had done… probably not the best thing to remember right before falling asleep.

Yet since they'd left Kirkwall he'd been keeping a tight rein on himself. Yes, he was kind, and solicitous of her in every way. Yes, he professed his love to her not only with his words, but also in the way that he looked at her, the way in which he seemed aware of her every move. What disturbed her was the chaste way he'd taken to kissing her since they'd left Kirkwall, and the careful way that he touched her, as if she were made of glass and would break.

She would not break. She wanted his hands on her. She wanted to lose herself in the fire that burned in his eyes even yet. She wanted… she wanted everything from him. Several times she'd meant to talk to him about it, but could not find the proper words to express her need.

She heard Aveline's armor clanking off in the trees – the former guard captain had taken the first watch and the sound was soothing to Bethany's jangled nerves. Aveline, who'd been with them ever since their escape from Ferelden, was sometimes as much comfort to her as her own sister, if not for the same reasons. Her unwavering loyalty, her stalwart presence, helped Bethany stand against how very much she had lost.

Finally, she could stand it no longer and said in a low voice, "Sebastian."

He immediately opened his eyes to look at her, and the brilliant blue of his piercing gaze took her breath away. "Is something wrong, love?" he asked quietly.

"Sebastian," she said, and once again cursed her lack of experience. Mari would have known what to say – she always did.

Bethany had hesitated for so long he asked, "Bethany?"

"I'm sorry," she said, "I feel so inept."

He reached out a hand to her, which she gratefully took, and slid her fingers through his. Even that small touch helped to ease her.

"What is troubling you?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.

"I am troubled," she admitted with relief. "Is there some reason…" she began but found she could not go on.

"Reason for what?" he prompted.

His expression was so filled with worry, his voice so gentle and caring, Bethany was finally able to say to him, "Is there some reason why I am not in your arms?"

The look of surprise on his face nearly made her laugh. He obviously had not expected her to say such a thing. His grip tightened on her hand and the flame of passion in his eyes seemed to burn even brighter. "You must know, my love, that is the only thing in all of Thedas that I want."

"Then why…" and even though she felt here cheeks burn at her own boldness, she asked, "Why are you so far away from me?"

Bethany was surprised this time when his dear face was suddenly overcome with embarrassment. It was several minutes before he spoke. "You will be Princess of Starkhaven, my love," he said. "And with that position comes certain… requirements."

"What requirements?" she asked. _What was he talking about?_

His voice dropped to a whisper. "If I took you in my arms… I do not know… I can not trust myself to refrain…"

Bethany understood that, she felt the same way, but she still did not see the problem. Well, other than a camp full of witnesses. So she said, "What has that to do with… with my being Princess?"

Sebastian closed his eyes and said very softly, "You must be pure."

"Pure?" She said much too loudly and immediately dropped her voice. "Pure? You mean…"

"I am afraid so," he said, and his gaze was filled with longing for her.

"But… but how would they know?" she whispered, now so embarrassed herself that she was glad she was facing away from the fire so that he could not see her expression.

"The Chantry," he said, and then added simply, "there are tests."

_Tests?_ She didn't like the sound of that, but she only said, "Oh."

Sebastian sat up then and tugged at Bethany's hand. She lifted herself and settled next to him as his arm went around her. Even that was a comfort. "There are many responsibilities and restrictions on a royal family," he said. "I'm sorry there has been no chance to prepare you, to make sure you understood exactly what you agreed to when you promised yourself to me."

"I never thought about being royalty," she said. "That sounds so strange, considering my past."

"You come from a noble line," he said. "That is the most important qualification."

"What about my magic?" she asked. "Even mere noble families do not want to bring magic into their lines."

"That is likely to be our greatest challenge," he admitted. "But I have every confidence that the people of Starkhaven will fall in love with you just as I have, and the fact you are a mage will make no difference." He paused for a moment, and then added, "Considering how the world is changing, perhaps it will even prove to be an advantage."

"Well, that would be a first," she said with a smile. "My magic an advantage and not a curse."

"This will not be an easy path, my love," he said. "But I ask it of you nonethless." His hand rose to gently caress her cheek. "None of this matters if you are not by my side."

"It is the only place I ever want to be," she whispered.

And though the kiss he pressed to her lips was very chaste, and though the arm around her shoulders was loosely placed, Bethany thought she could wait a while longer for the rest. After all, she had the most important thing, which was love.

* * *

Hawke was sorely missing Bodahn and Sandal on this trek through the wilds of the Free Marches. The sadness of their parting still lingered, but she couldn't blame them for going to Orlais. At least Sandal would have the chance to enchant his little heart out for the queen. If not for Sebastian's hunting skills, however, they would be terribly pressed for food by now.

Her belly rumbled and she laughed at herself. These days she was either ravenously hungry or sick at the sight of food. Her hand rested on her abdomen. Was there a child growing there? Or was something else at work?

"If there's something funny about traipsing through dirt," said Varric grumpily, "I sure wish you'd share the joke."

Hawke looked down at the dwarf and said, "Now Varric, I grant you there's _some_ dirt, but look around," she said and gestured to the forest that bordered the path, "grass, trees, flowers." She pointed up into the sky. "Birds."

"Nature is highly overrated," he groused. "Give me walls and floors and… ale. Yeah, ale might help."

"At the first opportunity the pints are on me," replied Hawke, and then she wondered if she should even drink ale until she knew if she was with child.

"I guess that's something," he said. "I can't believe I'm actually going to Starkhaven. That place is so pretentious even the street urchins have their noses in the air."

"This broody thing isn't like you, Varric," she said. "What's going on?"

Finally Varric chuckled. "I guess with Blondie gone and the elf suddenly all… happy, somebody has to wear the mopey crown."

Hawke looked at Fenris, who was walking up ahead with Aveline and Donnic, and as if to give credence to Varric's statement, he began to laugh. That was something she'd never tire of hearing, surely.

Varric said, "See what I mean? He's laughing!" Varric shook his head. "The first six years I knew him, that elf never laughed once."

"It's a good laugh," Hawke said dreamily.

Varric looked up at her. "What about you, Hawke?" he asked.

"What do you mean, what about me?" she asked in turn.

"Well, you've been driven from your home _again_, you're on the run _again_," he looked at her thoughtfully, "but this time they're going to be looking for you."

"Who's they?" she asked. She didn't like where this conversation was going.

"_The Powers That Be_," he replied. "After what happened at the Gallows..."

Hawke felt the weight of his words, and suddenly felt a bit mopey herself. So she asked him, "Was it my fault, Varric? I mean, what happened in Kirkwall – am I to blame?"

Varric took a while to answer, and Hawke focused on the birdsong and the sound of the wind through the trees, attempting to lift her mood.

Finally he said, "Blame?" He shook his head. "Blame the idol, or Meredith or even Blondie," he said. "Don't _blame_ yourself, but… you were the catalyst I suppose."

Hawke sighed. "I never meant to be," she said.

Varric chuckled. "You can't help yourself, Hawke." He shifted his backpack into a new position. "It's like the sun rises in the morning and Hawke creates chaos with her good deeds – just as unavoidable."

"What do you have in there, Varric?" Hawke asked, pointing to his bulging pack.

"Only my life's work," he said.

"Your books?" she asked.

"My stories," he said as if that were something different. "Other than Bianca, the most important thing in the world."

"Hmph," grunted Hawke. "Nice to know I'm below some books and a crossbow in order of importance."

"Oh Hawke, don't get your knickers in a twist," Varric said with a laugh. "You are definitely my very favorite human."

Isabela came up behind them and said, "I thought I was your favorite human, Varric."

"Uh, well," he stammered.

Hawke laughed. "I bet he tells that to all the ladies."

"You may be a lady, Hawke, but don't slander my name that way," Isabela said and winked at her.

"My apologies," Hawke said with mock sincerity. "Perhaps you're Varric's favorite slattern?"

"If you'll excuse me," said Varric as he hurried forward, "There's something I need to discuss with the elf."

"That's it! Run away!" said Isabela with a hearty laugh. "He's so cute when he runs," she added.

"You know, Isabela," Hawke said, turning serious now, "I'm surprised you've come along."

"You're surprised?" she said. "Think about how surprised I am!"

"I can't imagine you plan to stay in Starkhaven and help Sebastian reclaim his throne," Hawke said.

"Actually sweet thing, I'm only staying for one reason," Isabela replied.

"What's that?" asked Hawke.

"Silly goose, your wedding of course," she said, and put an arm around Hawke. "I wouldn't miss that for all the whores in Llomerryn."

"Ah, Isabela," said Hawke. "That's how I know you love me."

"Not so loud," said Isabela. "You'll ruin my hard-hearted reputation."

"That was my plan, all along," Hawke said with a grin.

* * *

"You call this a hunting cabin?" asked Varric. "I could fit the whole of Clan Tethras in this place."

"Hunting lodge," corrected Sebastian. "There is a difference."

"Apparently so," Varric said. "Though hunting _mansion_ might be more appropriate.

Hawke didn't care what it was called, as long as she could sleep in a bed tonight. On second thought, a bath would be nice, too. So she asked, "There are bathtubs, right?"

Sebastian chuckled. "Several, yes."

"My new favorite place," Hawke breathed.

* * *

After two weeks on the road with no way to get clean except for cold creek water, Hawke was in paradise. Although she did miss her enchanted bathtub, Bethany was more than adequate at heating the water.

"I remember I once asked Father why heating bathwater wasn't considered a selfish use of magic," Bethany said. "He told me that the Maker surely didn't want us to catch cold."

She was having this conversation with Bethany because there were two tubs in this particular bathing room. Such opulence!

"Father was a wise man," Hawke said as she slid down into the warm water. "Very wise."

"It's nice of you to share your turn with me, sister," Bethany said.

"What?" Instead of Fenris?" Hawke asked with a laugh. "Why would I mind when there's a giant-sized bed _and_ Fenris waiting for me when I'm through?"

"I envy you," Bethany said.

Hawke studied her sister carefully before asking, "Why did Sebastian give you your own room, anyway?"

Bethany's cheeks flushed as she said, "Apparently you have to be a… a virgin to become a princess," she answered.

"What?" Hawke asked incredulously. "You've got to be kidding!"

Bethany shook her head. "Sebastian told me that the Chantry even _checks_," she said the last word in a hushed tone.

"Eww," Hawke replied. "Forget to tell me how they do that."

"It's not funny, Mari," Bethany said.

Hawke sighed. "No, of course it's not. And you should do something about it."

"What could I do?" asked Bethany. "If I want to be his wife, then I have to wait until we're wed."

Hawke leaned over the edge of the tub and rested her chin on her folded arms. "Sister, there are many, many things you can _do_, and still remain pure for the Chantry and their tests."

"But Sebastian said…"

Hawke interrupted her. "My darling sister, I love your sweetness, but sometimes you are just a bit too compliant."

"That's not fair, Mari," said Bethany with a frown.

"What's not fair is you being forced to suffer just to comply with some archaic law." Hawke picked up the soap and began to scrub. "Take charge of the situation."

"But wouldn't that be manipulative?" Bethany asked.

"No," Hawke said emphatically. "It would be manipulative if you were trying to coerce him into a wedding." She lifted the soap and shook it at her sister in emphasis. "You are already betrothed, he already loves you." Hawke smiled slyly and added, "Unless, that is, you don't mind waiting years for anything more than polite kisses and gentlemanly hugs."

"Years?" Bethany exclaimed.

"You don't think Sebastian is going to be able to reclaim his throne overnight, do you?" Hawke asked. She didn't really think it would take Sebastian years, but her sister needed some prodding.

"I hadn't… I hadn't really thought about it," she replied.

"It's past time you thought about it," Hawke said, "and it's time to take action."

"What should I do?" Bethany asked.

So Hawke explained a few things too her too sweet, too innocent sister. When they finally departed the bathing room, Bethany's cheeks were very flushed, but she blamed it on the hot water.

* * *

By the time Fenris entered their room, Hawke was already in bed waiting for him. It was a lovely room, with a very large bed, complete with blue velvet curtains hanging from the canopy frame.

"There you are," said Hawke. "What took you so long?" She sat up just enough that the covers slipped and revealed his favorite breast.

Fenris began stripping off his armor in a hurry. He said, "Aveline and Sebastian wanted to discuss reconnaissance." His eyes never left her as he added, "They wanted you to join us as well, but I told them you were… tired."

"How kind of you," Hawke said. She stretched and yawned as if to prove his point. "I am very… _tired_."

"Yes," he growled. "I thought you might need some help with that."

"Oh yes," she said, smiling. "I am in desperate need of help."

"As I thought," he said, and sat on the bed to remove his greaves.

"You are the most helpful person I know," she said as she lifted the covers for him to slide in next to her. "What would I do without you?"

Fenris only growled as he took her in his arms.

* * *

Sebastian stood outside of Bethany's door, hesitating. He merely wanted to check on her, make sure she was comfortable, but he was loath to disturb her privacy. Perhaps she was already in bed, asleep - not prepared for a visitor at this late hour.

He'd been sitting with Aveline and Fenris, discussing possible strategies to find out the current situation in Starkhaven. It was Fenris who had finally called a halt to the meeting when he'd stood and said, "I must check on Hawke." He'd left without another word, and Sebastian understood his impatience, considering who was waiting for him. And now here he was, standing outside the bedroom of his own love.

Those were his thoughts when the door flew open. There stood Bethany clad only in a light shift that came just to the top of her thighs. For a moment Sebastian could only stare.

"Sebastian," Bethany said, "I thought I heard someone out here."

He struggled to find his voice. "I… I am sorry Bethany, I did not mean…"

"Don't be silly," she said and took his hand and pulled him into the room. She seemed perfectly at ease except for the slight trembling of her fingers as they held his, and she shut the door behind him with an audible click.

"I should not…" he began, but wasn't sure what he should not. His mind was only filled with what he _should_ do, which was reach out and pull her into his arms and… other things.

"It's a lovely room, Sebastian," Bethany said and gestured to her surroundings, which caused her shift to… well, shift in interesting ways. "Thank you."

When he didn't respond but continued to stand where she'd left him, she said, "I feel guilty having this big bed all to myself." She laughed lightly. "When I was in the Circle my bed was hardly wide enough for me to turn over."

The picture that brought to his mind was not helpful in retaining his resolve not to touch her. "It is my pleasure," he said, and then cleared his throat. He would not think of what other pleasures he would like to give her.

When she walked over to stand directly in front of him, he clenched his hands at his sides, and was determined to keep them there. But Bethany seemed to have no such compunction and lifted a hand to his cheek. "You are too good to me," she said.

For some reason unknown to himself, watching her lips form those simple words was too much for him and his blasted resolve. His hands moved to her shoulders without his permission, and his head bent so that he might taste the lips that so enticed him. Sebastian had no idea what he'd meant to do, as his brain was no longer informing him of appropriate actions. One simple taste of her inflamed him to such a degree that he found he was pulling her tightly against him and he deepened the kiss with some force.

This only caused Bethany to soften under the touch of his hands and his mouth, and the little mewling sound she made in her throat was perhaps the sweetest sound he'd ever heard. It wasn't until he realized that his hands had crept under the hem of her shift to caress her soft thighs that he stopped cold.

"Bethany," he said, after he'd pulled back from her. "My love, forgive me."

She stood there, looking tousled and perfect, her lips swollen from his recent ministrations. She said, "I am not sorry," and her eyes were alight with passion.

"We cannot risk..." Sebastian began, but she stopped him.

She took his hands in hers and brought them to her lips. "You must trust me, my love," she said.

_What did she mean?_ "I do trust you, of course I do," he said and then added somewhat desperately, "It is myself I do not trust."

"Well, we'll just have to work on that, won't we?" she said, but it wasn't really a question.

By the time Sebastian left her room a little while later, his only thoughts were of how to reclaim his throne as quickly as possible or his beautiful, sweet Bethany might be the death of him. Or, at least, the end of his sanity.

* * *

"Rivaini, stop that," Varric said.

"What?" Isabela asked, and she turned quickly, with her hands behind her back.

"It isn't polite to steal from your host," he replied casually.

"I didn't," she said.

"You did," he said with a chuckle.

Isabela huffed. "I was only looking at it," she said as she replaced the figurine on the mantle.

Varric peered up at it. "Are those arrow tips real diamonds?" he asked.

"I think they are," she replied, as her eyes gazed longingly at the exquisitely carved miniature bowman.

"Where is everyone?" asked Merrill as she entered the room.

"They've all gone to bed, Daisy," Varric said. "Where were you? I was getting worried."

"Oh, I got lost upstairs. This place is so big," she replied, her eyes wide.

"Heh, wait until you see the mansions in Starkhaven," he said. "They make this place look like a cabin."

"I'm bored," Isabela said out of nowhere.

"Want to play some Wicked Grace?" asked Varric.

There was a loud thump from upstairs and Merrill jumped. "What was that?" she asked.

"That's what I want to be doing," pouted Isabela.

"Breaking furniture?" asked Varric innocently.

"Oh, Sebastian won't like that," said Merrill.

Isabela sighed heavily. "Go get the cards, Varric."

"As you wish," Varric said, grinning at her.


	33. Chapter 32

Hawke sat watching the full moon rise over the tree line as it bathed the wide lawn in soft, milky light. They'd been at the lodge for two weeks now, and in that time she'd traveled to Starkhaven three times – twice with Aveline and once with Isabela. Sebastian was restless, wanting to go himself, but Hawke continually reminded him of Jergan and the dungeons. She thought, however, it was Bethany's horrified reaction that he would take such a risk that prevented him from going, rather than Hawke's more practical concerns.

From what they'd been able to gather, the chaos that had erupted in Kirkwall was quickly spreading throughout Thedas. The Circles were beginning to rebel, and even among the Templar ranks all was not well. In Starkhaven, however, things _seemed_ peaceful. Perhaps that was because the newly formed Circle of Magi was relatively small, or perhaps because the new First Enchanter had strong ties to the Chantry. Bergrand, Hawke thought his name was. Or perhaps it was because Starkhaven had the wealth required to maintain the illusion of stability and peace. On her trip with Isabela to the rare, seedier sections of the city, they had learned that the people – the merchants and dockworkers and craftspeople - were not at all happy with the Usurper Prince Vael. They were even less happy with his trusted Counselor Jergan.

Their next trip would include Varric so that he could put his magical information gathering skills to good use. The Dwarven Merchant's Guild's presence in Starkhaven was very small indeed, but as Varric put it, "Their fingers will still be in all the pies."

On this night, however, those things were not paramount on Hawke's mind. The moon was on her mind. The full moon and what that most likely meant. It was the second full moon with no sign of her monthly bleeding.

This had happened before during times of stress, like during her escape from Ferelden. There were other things, however, that did not allow her to hold onto that excuse. Of course there was the intermittent queasiness she experienced, and there was the heaviness in her breasts, which far surpassed what she usually experienced when she bled. But there was one other thing, something she had never experienced before that made her believe she was pregnant.

Each and every time she made love with Fenris, during the height of her passion, her stomach muscles would contract in the most unusual way. It wasn't painful or frightening, merely… odd. She did not, however, have anything to compare it to, but she did think that there was a slight swelling of her abdomen.

Who was she kidding? Probably? Think? Believe? She needed to face the truth, and the truth was she was sure she was with child. The question became, how did she _feel_ about it?

She felt happy – a family of her own now – her love increased exponentially.

She felt afraid – what kind of world was she bringing this child into?

She felt nervous – would the child be a mage?

She felt content – she would carry the child of the man she loved more than her own life.

Apparently being pregnant brought up an awful lot of feelings.

But practical Hawke kicked in as well, and she knew that it also meant they would only have five or six months before she would need to be settled somewhere for a period of time. Even though she'd been very young, and even though Leandra had carried twins, Hawke still remembered how big her mother had grown by the end of her pregnancy, and knew that there would be no traveling after a certain point.

She was, however, getting ahead of herself. The very next thing she needed to do was tell Fenris.

The next day Hawke suggested to Fenris that a walk would be a lovely idea. The forest was, after all, so beautiful this time of year and she really could use the exercise and…

He took the hint.

They walked together through the trees until they came to a babbling stream that flowed down from the mountains to the north. For a time they strolled up the rocky slope, hand in hand in a comfortable silence. When they came to a small clearing where the water pooled at the base of a steep hillside, it reminded Hawke of the dream she'd had of Carver. She half expected a grey-haired old woman to come sliding down the short falls and land in the pool.

Hawke led Fenris to the edge of the water where they sat together on a flat, mossy rock.

"Allow me to make this easy for you, Hawke," Fenris said as he wrapped an arm around her waist. "You are with child," he said simply.

"And you knew this how, exactly?" she asked with a smile.

"Other than this obvious walk to get me alone, you mean?" he asked in turn.

"Yes, other than that," she replied cheekily.

Fenris laid his hand over her womb and said, "Your body is changing."

"You've noticed." It wasn't a question.

"I believe I would notice if you suddenly had one new freckle," he said, smiling at her.

She smiled softly back at him. "And you're feeling… what?" Fenris had accepted the possibility of a child with a rather sanguine attitude, she remembered. But the reality?

He didn't answer at first, but simply sat there holding her gaze, his hand still pressed to her belly. "Since first we met," he finally began, "everything about my life has changed for the better." And then his voice dropped into that low rumble that always sent shivers down her spine. "I have no reason to believe this will be any different."

"Just like that?" she teased him.

"We are together," he said seriously. His lips curved, and it was such a gentle smile that it soothed away the last of her fears. "There will be three of us instead of only two."

She swallowed against the sudden constriction in her throat. "A family," she said.

"Yes," he agreed, and then he pressed his lips to hers and for a while, they were lost in each other.

There remained one thing on Hawke's mind, however. "Fenris," she said and held up her hand for his inspection, "do you think the ring had anything to do with it?"

"I do not think you can become pregnant by magic, Hawke," he said, smiling down at her.

"No, I suppose not," she agreed. "But it did seem to increase our desire for each other." She laughed. "I wouldn't have thought that was possible."

"I have thought about it," he said, serious now. "And though I do not know how to find out the truth, it seems to me the last line of the inscription may provide a clue."

"Together we are stronger than one," Hawke quoted, knowing immediately the line he meant.

"I have also experienced no further memory _attacks_," he reminded her. "Now they are simply flashes of memory that cause no pain or anxiety."

"So you think that the magic of the ring…"

"I think it strengthened what we already had," he said simply. "And perhaps helped to remove the last barriers between us."

"Well, if that's the case, I don't mind then," she said and kissed him lightly.

"What don't you mind?" he asked with a grin.

"That all the pesky barriers are gone, of course," she said.

Fenris rose and offered her his hand, which she accepted. They began to walk back the way they had come.

"Pesky, were they?" he finally said with a chuckle.

"Peskiest things ever," she confirmed.

* * *

As they continued on their way back to the lodge, Fenris had something of his own to discuss with her. "I have been speaking with Sebastian," he said.

"About what?" she asked.

"About a wedding," he replied.

"I thought Sebastian couldn't marry my sister until he was prince again," she said.

Fenris tugged at her hand and they stopped under the leafy shade of an old, gnarled oak tree. "Our wedding," he said.

"Oh," Hawke squeaked. "Why would you talk to Sebastian? Wait… oh."

"Either as Chantry Brother or Prince of Starkhaven, he is empowered to perform the ceremony," Fenris said.

Hawke laughed. "Funny that right now he is neither of those things."

Fenris, however, frowned. "You no longer wish it?" he asked.

"What?" she said. She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned her weight against him. "Of course I wish it!"

"It may not be official," he said, "but it may be some time before we have another opportunity." He looked down at her, the question plain to see in his eyes.

Hawke thought for a moment. What did it matter if they had some sort of official sanction? She had told him when he'd placed his ring on her finger that she already felt married. So she said, "All of our friends are here."

"That may be temporary, as well," he reminded her.

"And Sebastian agreed to this?" she asked.

"He said it would be his honor," Fenris replied.

Hawke drew him closer and nuzzled his neck. "That means more honeymoon," she said.

He chuckled. "Is that your only concern?"

"Hmm," she murmured. "You know honeymoons are my favorite thing."

**FROM THE JOURNAL OF VARRIC TETHRAS**

Well, it finally happened. Fenris really is Hawke's elf now, and she is his not-at-all blushing bride. I guess we'll leave the blushing to Sunshine when it's her turn at the altar, hehe. She's so adorable when her checks turn all pink.

Not that Hawke had an altar, mind you. For some reason I will never fathom, she chose to get married outside in the dark! I guess it's a girl thing. I mean, they did it up really nice. I think they emptied the entire house of candles and had the whole lawn lit up like it was Wintersend or something. I don't know what we're going to do now when it gets dark, because all that's left are these little candle stubs.

There wasn't much in the lodge in the way of women's clothing, but Hawke and Isabela tore down the canopy curtains from Hawke's bed, and with the help of some scissors and thread, they draped blue velvet over Hawke in the most interesting ways. The moonstone pendant resting between her breasts glowed so brightly blue-white it looked like a star come down from the heavens.

Yeah, I know I'm sounding kind of sappy, but it was a wedding – give me a break. Though Hawke was a vision of loveliness and beauty, it was the elf who had my jaw dropping. I'd never seen him in anything but his pointy, angry armor, so when he came of out of the house dressed in a noble's finery, it was quite the shock. I know I said finery, but it really wasn't all that fancy – just a plainly cut brown tunic trimmed in green and brown leggings to match. But get this, he wore boots! Tan suede boots, to be exact. I never thought I'd live to see that.

Next, well, Hawke came up to me and said, "Varric, will you escort me?" and her voice was all choked-up. That nearly undid me – so much so I could only nod and hold out my arm for her to take. I could barely see as we walked across the broad expanse of lawn to where everyone else was gathered. I think maybe I got something in my eye, but I couldn't say for sure.

Sebastian performed the ceremony, and I'm sure it was lovely, but I can't remember much of what he said. Andraste this, Maker that, bound in life unto death – stuff like that. Merrill was openly weeping and even Aveline had tears running down her cheeks, so it must have been nice, whatever he said.

Soon enough it was over and the elf – _Fenris_ I should say – took his new bride in his arms and kissed her. Those two never change – watching them kiss is sure to raise the temperature of everyone in the vicinity. Sebastian kept running his fingers under the collar of his armor. I think our lady Sunshine has been pushing his limits a bit lately.

That kiss went on for so long that eventually Choirboy cleared his throat rather loudly, but it was still a few more minutes before they broke apart.

There was a lot of kissing and hugging all around after that and, this no longer surprises me, the elf tolerated it all pretty well. The sight of the two Hawke sisters embracing, well – stuff in my eyes again, I'm sure.

Aveline gave a speech, and our tough lady soldier had to stop several times to collect herself - especially when she was talking about the time the Magistrate kidnapped Hawke and Fenris saved her. That was probably the closest we ever came to actually losing our Hawke – worse even than when she fought the Arishok.

I was pretty disappointed that we weren't going to have any music, but Merrill surprised us all when she sang this haunting elven song. Her voice – I can't describe it, but she had us all mesmerized, even though at the time nobody knew what the song was about. Later she told me it was the story of the Creators, Elgar'nan and Mythal, and how Mythal had walked out of the sea of the Earth's tears and at her touch, Elgar'nan knew that his anger had led him astray.

Appropriate, I'd say.

Even without musicians, Hawke and Isabela did a pretty good job singing their favorite Ferelden drinking songs. I don't know which one I liked better, _Denerim's A Dump_ or _The Rascal of Redcliffe_. Heh heh, probably the latter because of its graphic nature. But it was soon after that I noticed something strange. Despite all the wine flowing, and all the toasts to the new couple, well, Hawke wasn't drunk. Believe me when I tell you I know the difference between a drunk Hawke and a sober Hawke, purely in entertainment value alone. So I began watching her and I even checked out her goblet. There was only water in there, I'm not shitting you – and at her own wedding!

I let this slide for a while because it really was a good party and I didn't want to dampen the mood. But toward the end of the night I pulled her aside.

"What's with the water, Hawke?" I asked her and held up my own goblet. "I know you like ale, but the wine isn't that bad."

"Of course you noticed," she said and smiled down at me. When she smiles at me like that I want to run off and kill a dragon for her or something.

"Well, yeah," I said. "You didn't fall off any tables, for one thing."

She laughed and said without introduction or fanfare, "I'm pregnant."

You could have knocked me over with a feather. In fact, Hawke suddenly grabbed me by the arm and said, "Varric, are you all right?" I don't know how my face looked because I couldn't see it, but I'm guessing I might have gone pale or something.

"Fine, fine," I said, just to reassure her. This was the last thing I expected to hear from Hawke on her wedding day, and it took me a minute to adjust. But, of course, adjust I did. _Andraste's ass_, just when I think she can't possibly top herself, Hawke comes up with something that knocks me for a loop.

She was looking at me in such a concerned way, I figured I better say something - preferably something to make her laugh. Hawke's laughter is the best. "I tried to warn the elf," I said.

"Warn him? What are you talking about, Varric?" she asked me, but she was still smiling. Hawke knows me too well.

"I told him all that impressive brooding of his would make women want to have broody babies in his honor," and I paused just a second for dramatic effect before I added, "I just didn't know it would be the finest woman I've ever met."

Hawke leaked all over me after that. _Maker_ – pregnant women are so emotional.

Word soon got around the room (I wonder how?) and soon the women had herded Hawke off to have her for themselves. Secret woman's pregnancy rituals, I'm guessing.

"Going to be a daddy, huh elf?" I asked Fenris casually.

"Yes," he said, and there was just enough scowl there to warn me off of any untoward comments. I never intended that, anyway.

What I said was, "I think you'll do just fine."

* * *

Aveline, Donnic, Varric and Isabela had been gone for three days, and it would likely be another three before they returned. They were, of course, in Starkhaven, this time on an extended stay to gather information and perhaps, for Aveline and Donnic to find work – preferably in the city's guard.

Why hadn't Hawke gone with them? Because each of her friends had come up with a reason why she should not.

"Someone might recognize you," said Aveline.

"Aveline is right," said Donnic.

"I'm better at stealth than you, and you know it, sweet thing," said Isabela.

"You're still on your honeymoon, Hawke," said Varric.

"You promised to go mushroom hunting with me," said Merrill.

"I need you to study the city maps," said Sebastian.

Fenris had wisely kept his mouth shut, but Bethany had said what Hawke was sure everyone else was thinking. "You're pregnant, sister."

Upon which they had all turned their heads to stare at Hawke, and Fenris had coughed. She was sure that cough had been to cover his laughter.

So, she had stayed behind and, mushroom hunting and map studying aside, she was bored out of her mind.

The worst part was she realized that this was just the beginning. In the months to come her job would be more and more relegated to sitting on the sidelines while everyone else went off to do the dangerous work. Or, as she thought of it - the fun stuff.

She glanced over at Fenris who was calmly running his blade along his borrowed whetstone, and she frowned in contrition. He could not go to Starkhaven either, but he wasn't sulking. He accepted the fact that is markings were no better than a sign hung around his neck that said, "Hi! I'm Hawke's elven lover!"

They'd all become just a bit too famous from their exploits in Kirkwall, but the others at least had some chance at anonymity. Unless you were an apostate, the former Prince of Starkhaven, a lyrium tattooed elf, or… pregnant, that was.

"Hawke," said Fenris as he set his sword in its stand. There were so many weapons in this place Hawke thought they could equip a small army, themselves. "Why are you frowning?" he asked. "Are you unwell?"

She did her best to smile for him and replied, "I'm perfectly well, Fenris."

He sat next to her on the bench and took her hand. "This will not be easy for you," he said.

"No, it won't," she said and sighed. "Perhaps I should take up knitting."

Fenris chuckled. "With these fingers," he said holding her hand up, "you'd most assuredly be good at it."

She frowned at him and said sternly, "That was sarcasm, Fenris. I will not learn to knit."

"No," he said, "I did not think so." He tugged at her hand then and pulled her to her feet. "Retrieve your daggers and we will go out onto the lawn and spar."

Now her smile was genuine. "A man after my own heart," she said.

"A man who knows your heart," he corrected, and leaned down to kiss her.

"You know we could…" she began.

But Fenris laughed and said, "Get your daggers, Hawke."

* * *

Sebastian was standing on the stone patio than ran the length of the house, watching Fenris and Hawke train together. They really were quite the sight, but he thought perhaps Fenris was being remiss in allowing his pregnant wife to exert herself so. He was so engrossed watching them that he did not hear Bethany's approach, so he was startled when she said in a soft voice, "They fight well together, don't they?" directly into his ear.

He felt the effects of her nearness to an alarming degree, and he forced himself to remain still and reply in a normal tone, "Very well, indeed."

Bethany linked her arm through his and he felt the soft swell of her breast push against his arm through his linen tunic. She said, "It's getting very warm, isn't it? My, look how they're sweating." And her grip on his arm tightened ever so slightly.

"Yes," he agreed. "Very warm."

It as always like this with Bethany now. The way she continually found reasons to touch him, to tease and to tempt him was a constant strain on his control. He prayed every night that some way would soon be found to retake Starkhaven; because the Maker knew he could not go on like this much longer.

Bethany lifted one hand and began running her fingers through his hair, which had grown overlong and was beginning to curl at his collar. "I'd be happy to trim this for you," she said.

He looked down at her, smiling so sweetly at him, and though he meant to politely refuse, he took one look into her shining eyes and he found himself saying, "Yes, that would be…"

Bethany laughed and before he could properly gather his wits, she pulled him into the house for a haircut.

It was delicious torture. First she insisted on washing his hair for him, and her fingers on his scalp sent currents of heat running all through his body. When at last she took the scissors and began to snip carefully at his hair, the way she lightly tugged on each strand before cutting it caused his skin to breakout in gooseflesh. Between the heat and the cold of her touch, he thought he might lose his mind.

When she finally finished and pulled the towel from his neck with a flourish, he found he could not immediately rise from the chair.

"You're finished," said Bethany as she tugged at his hand, attempting to pull him to his feet.

Bethany squealed as he pulled her into his lap, but the sounds she soon made as his mouth claimed hers were an echo of his own longing. Once again he gave into the temptation and once again it was the sweetest torture he could imagine.

As always, it was Bethany, his love, who soothed and calmed him so that his ardor did not move into a raging lust. She gentled the kiss, took his face in her soft hands and lifted her mouth from his. "I'll just put these things away and we'll go for a walk," she said, as she rose from his lap.

He reluctantly let her go, and was glad for the respite, because Maker knew there was no way he could stand quite yet. He prayed again that his friends would soon return from Starkhaven with good news.

* * *

The next day Fenris and Sebastian left before sunrise to go hunting, leaving the three women alone for the day. Merrill had found an old lute in the attic and was plucking at the strings, trying to teach herself to play.

The two sister were bent over the maps spread out on the large, square dining table doing their best to make sense of a city they'd never seen, when Bethany said, "Mari, can I ask you something?"

Hawke straightened and pressed a hand to the ache low in her back, thinking perhaps she'd overdone it yesterday training with Fenris, but she said, "Of course. Ask me anything."

Bethany, however, had noticed her discomfort and asked, "What's wrong? Are you in pain?"

Hawke laughed. "Is that what you wanted to ask me?"

"Don't joke, Mari," Bethany replied. "Does your back hurt?"

"It's nothing," Hawke said. "Just a little ache."

"You're not allowed to do that, anymore," said Bethany.

"Do what?" Hawke asked, taken aback by the unusual authority in her sister's voice.

"You've always made light when you've been sick or hurt," Bethany said. "But now you have to think of the baby, not just yourself."

Hawke opened her mouth to protest, but she realized her sister had a point.

Bethany went on, "Let's get you on a bed where I can help you." She turned to the corner where Merrill sat playing with her new toy. "Come, Merrill," she said. "Time for a healing lesson."

Ever since they'd arrived at the lodge Bethany had been working with Merrill, attempting to teach her the basics of healing, both through spells and more practical methods. Merrill was proving adept at potions and poultices, but was not doing as well when it came to using magic.

"Is Hawke hurt?" Merrill asked with concern as she set aside her lute and rose to join them.

"I'm fine, Merrill," Hawke said. "Just a little back ache."

"Hmph," grunted Bethany. "I wish you could see a midwife. I know so little about pregnancy and childbirth."

They went upstairs to Hawke's bedroom, and Bethany had her sister strip down to her tunic and lay facedown on the bed. The cool touch of Bethany's fingers felt wonderful, especially when she began kneading the tight muscles there.

"Here, Merrill," Bethany said. "Put your fingers right here and press lightly."

Merrill did as she was told and then squeaked and quickly pulled her hand away. "They're moving!" she exclaimed.

Bethany smiled. "The muscles are tight, and when you press on them it makes them spasm."

"Oh," Merrill said. "Why would they do that? Wouldn't that make them hurt worse?"

Bethany sighed. "It's a reaction Merrill, the muscles don't do it on purpose."

"Oh, I see," Merrill said, but Hawke didn't think she did.

Hawke felt Bethany fingers pressing on her back again as she spoke. "I only want you to watch, Merrill. As Hawke is pregnant, it's probably best if you don't use magic on her just yet."

"All right," said Merrill and Hawke felt the bed shift as Merrill sat down next to her.

Bethany explained how it was important to test the muscles first, to find where they were swollen or twitching before applying a healing spell.

"It's very different than when you're in battle and you basically throw a healing spell over an entire person," Bethany said. "In an injury like this…"

"I am not injured," said Hawke. "It's just a little ache."

Bethany's voice took on that tone of authority again as she repeated, "In an injury like this, you channel a very small amount of magic directly through your fingers."

Hawke immediately felt the effect of Bethany's magic as a wave of tingling heat spread over her lower back. She sighed loudly and said, "That feels wonderful." Soon the ache in her back was entirely gone and she rolled over to face her sister. "Thank you," she said, and then added, "You know, I think you're going to make an excellent princess, sister."

"What?" Bethany said obviously startled. "Why would you say that?"

Hawke grinned wickedly at her and replied, "Because you're getting very good at being bossy."

"Mari!" Bethany said, but she was smiling.

Merrill said, "She's right, you know. Just the other day you told me to gather some kindling in the most bossy way."

"Oh, I didn't mean…" Bethany said and now she looked confused.

"You sounded just like the Keeper," Merrill added fondly.

Hawke laughed as she sat up and took Bethany's hand. "My little sister finally all grown up," she said.

* * *

When Aveline and Varric arrived the next day, Hawke immediately ran across the lawn to greet them.

"Where are Donnic and Isabela?" she asked, her voice filled with concern.

"Calm down, Hawke," said Varric. "Everyone's all right."

"Yes," agreed Aveline, "but I'd rather not tell the story twice, and I'm half starved, so your questions will have to wait."

So it wasn't until they were gathered around the fireplace after their evening meal that they told the story of their days in Starkhaven.

"Donnic was able to get hired on by the guards," said Aveline, "but apparently the Guard Captain is a misogynist."

"What does that mean?" asked Merrill. "Is it some kind of disease?"

"Yes, it's a disease of the brain," Hawke said, "It makes some men hate all women."

"There is not one female guardsman," said Aveline with disgust. "But, at least Donnic was successful, and hopefully he'll have some good information before too long."

"What of Isabela?" asked Hawke.

Varric spoke up. "She ran into this guy from Ostwick, Pardus I think his name was." Varric said and wiggled his eyebrows. "Rivaini met him a few years back when she was avoiding Kirkwall."

"So she stayed to get laid?" Hawke asked.

"Well, probably," said Varric. "But also because this Pardus fellow knows a lot of people, and he really likes Rivaini a lot." He shrugged his shoulders. "She thinks he'll be useful."

Sebastian spoke up. "Have you learned anything, Varric?"

"Well, Choirboy," Varric said, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms over his chest, "I did learn a thing or two."

"Which was?" Sebastian asked impatiently. Hawke couldn't believe Varric was still calling him Choirboy. She nearly giggled.

"No respect for the storyteller," said Varric, but waved Sebastian off when he tried to interrupt. "The word on the street is that there have been two assassination attempts on your cousin Goren."

Sebastian rose from his chair in a heartbeat. "By whom?" he asked.

"Rumor has it the Crows have the contract," said Varric, "but that's not the most interesting thing."

Hawke said, "I hate the Crows."

Sebastian said, "Please do not talk in riddles, dwarf."

"They hate you too, Hawke," Varric said smiling at her, but then he turned to Sebastian and said. "Rumor has it that Jergan is the one who hired them."


	34. Chapter 33

"What is it now, Jergan?" asked the very round man sitting alone at the table. "Cannot I eat one meal without interruption?" Platters of food sat before him and he was steadily picking the last of the meat off of a chicken carcass with greasy fingers.

"Pardon me, Your Majesty," said the very tall man who approached the table with a slight bow. His long, golden hair was braided down his back, and his piercing, ice-blue eyes looked at the Prince of Starkhaven with barely concealed contempt. "It is difficult to find a time when you are not… enjoying a meal."

"Humph," grunted Prince Goren Vael through a mouthful of meat, "I hope at least you have come to tell me you have hired more guards." He lifted a goblet to his lips and greedily slurped the wine.

"I have," replied Jergan. "A dozen more this week." He stroked his long chin and added, "They are ready for inspection, Your Majesty."

"Now?" Goren shouted. "Blast it all, Jergan your timing is atrocious, as always."

Jergan winced inwardly at the crude language of the Prince, but did not allow it to appear on his face. For now this vile little man was his liege-lord and, as difficult as it was, he did his best to maintain the appearance of a trusted counselor. "Again, I beg your pardon," was all he said, while in his mind he was cursing the last failed attempt by the Crows to separate the Prince's head from his body.

"Yes, yes," said Goren as he rose from his seat and began brushing crumbs and bits of meat from his fat belly. Servants immediately moved in to begin clearing the table. "Leave it!" he commanded and they all scurried back to their position along the wall. "I shall return forthwith."

Jergan followed the prince through the long, winding corridors until they reach the Hall of Receiving. There stood the newest additions to the Starkhaven City Guard – each one tall and brawny and unsmiling, just how the prince liked them. Goren himself insisted on these inspections, and Jergan was sure it was to make sure no women were appointed. A stupid prejudice, but Jergan personally did not care. Once _he_ was the power in Starkhaven, things would be very different, indeed.

Prince Goren walked back and forth in front of the men before he stopped in front of the tallest of them. "Your name, guardsman?" he demanded.

"My name is Donte, Your Majesty," said the guard respectfully and he bowed.

He eyed the guardsman for long moments before he turned to Jergan and said, "I want this one in the palace," and he turned on his heel and stomped out of the room without another word.

Jergan approached the new recruit and said, "Quite the honor," before gesturing to one of the Palace Guards standing by the door. "See to it," he said and then turned to follow the prince from the room.

* * *

Donnic followed the royal guardsman through many twisted corridors and down several sets of stairs before they finally came to a large set of double doors.

"This is the barracks," the man said as he pushed open the doors. He turned then and said, "I'm Corporal Tomas," and he held out his hand to Donnic.

"Donte," said Donnic, taking the man's hand in a firm grip. "Pleased to meet you."

"_Corporal_ Donte." Tomas said and then looked up at him. "I think he picked you because you're so tall."

It was true; Donnic stood half a head taller than Tomas. "Perhaps," was his only response.

"Come on," said Tomas, "let's get you fitted for your armor and assigned a bunk.

Donnic did his best to act as if this was all perfectly normal, but on the inside, he heart was pounding hard in his chest. He couldn't believe his luck. _The Palace Guard_. He began to wonder how he would get a message to Aveline.

* * *

One thing Hawke absolutely adored about her life in exile was that she and Bethany were together again. Their long years apart had most assuredly changed them both, but the affection, the ease of conversation, the teasing and the laughter were, if anything, even more precious now after having lived without those things. The only thing that troubled Hawke even slightly was how Bethany remained wary around Fenris. Oh, they were polite, and there didn't seem to be a trace of animosity or resentment between them, but Hawke – loving them both so very much – wished they would truly become as brother and sister.

So it was with some interest that she heard the voices of her sister and her love as she passed by the kitchen. She felt somewhat guilty as she stopped, just out of sight, to listen – but her curiosity overwhelmed her.

"… have a sister," Bethany was saying.

"Yes," replied Fenris, "although it is not the same as you and Hawke."

"What do you mean?" her sister asked.

It was a several minutes before Fenris answered, and traces of the old anger were apparent in his voice. "The only memory I truly have of my sister is that she attempted to betray me to my former master."

"So that's what Mari meant…" Bethany said. Her voice softened as she added, "I'm sorry Fenris."

Hawke was surprised when he told her "My sister sent a letter asking for my forgiveness." She could almost see him shaking his head as he said, "I do not know if that is possible."

She heard Bethany's footsteps, and when she next spoke, her voice was much nearer. "I know it's not the same, but I was… angry with Mari for leaving me behind when she went off to the Deep Roads. When the Templars took me to the Circle, I blamed her at first."

"What changed your mind?" asked Fenris, and he sounded genuinely curious.

Bethany laughed softly. "It wasn't so much my mind as my feelings that changed." There was a pause and Hawke wanted to risk peeking at them, because if she knew her sister, her hand was now on Fenris' arm. But she held very still and only listened as Bethany continued. "You know Mari, could you stay angry with her for anything?"

This time Fenris chuckled. "You are right. I could not."

"Perhaps someday your feelings will change, Fenris. I hope so anyway."

"We shall see," he replied.

"But at least…" Bethany began, and there was a moment of silence before Fenris spoke.

"At least what?" he asked.

"Now you, well, you have another sister," Bethany said, and Hawke found herself suddenly fighting back tears. She seemed to be a regular water fountain these days. Bethany spoke again, "And I have a brother."

Hawke found she was holding her breath for long moments, waiting for Fenris to speak. "Not long ago I thought I had lost the only family I might have had," he said in his very growly voice, and Hawke couldn't help the shivers that ran down her spine. "Having a family… I am very fortunate to have such a family now."

Hawke thought that was probably her cue to leave before she got caught.

She was about half way up the stairway when Fenris called to her.

"Hawke," he said, and she knew she would never tire of hearing him say her name in just that way.

She turned to face him with her best smile.

When he caught up to her he asked, "Have you been crying?" and he gently wiped at her cheek with his fingers.

"It's nothing," she said. "Being pregnant makes my eyes leak, that's all."

"There is nothing wrong?" he persisted.

She shook her head. "What did you want?"

In answer, he smiled at her very wickedly, scooped her up into his arms, and continued up the steps. "More honeymoon," he replied.

"Hmm," she said. "My favorite."

* * *

Just after dark, Isabela showed up with her _friend_ in tow.

"Everyone, this is Pardus," she said and smiled like a well-fed cat.

"Excuse me Serah," Hawke said and nodded before turning to Isabela. "What were you thinking bringing him here, Isabela?"

"He's going to help," said Isabela matter-of-factly, "and if he doesn't, we'll kill him."

"What?" Pardus exclaimed.

"That was your plan?" asked Hawke, shaking her head. "You are so terrible at plans."

Varric said, "We don't have to kill him, we can just tie him up or something."

"Ooo," said Isabela. "Even better."

"Hawke is right," said Sebastian. "We are in enough danger this close to the city without you bringing strangers…"

"I said he was going to help, didn't I?" Isabela pouted. "Why don't you people trust me?"

"Qunari relic," said Fenris.

"Deals with demons," said Hawke.

"You still owe me five sovereigns," said Varric.

Aveline walked into the room, her armor clanking noisily. "Who is this?" she asked, and Pardus had the good grace to look frightened. The look on her face and the big sword in her hand were both vaguely terrifying.

"Will you all at least listen to me?" asked Isabela, and she sounded honestly frustrated now.

Hawke walked over and stood next to Fenris, who wasn't glowing just yet, but it appeared as if the glowing could be immanent. "Talk," she said.

Pardus looked at the group gathered around him and wondered if this had been such a good idea. Isabela was so much fun, and she didn't seem to take anything very seriously. So when she'd asked him if he'd use his contacts in Starkhaven to help some friends of hers, he'd thought, _sure – why not?_

Isabela had several seriously dangerous looking friends. The way that freckled, red-haired woman was holding her sword, for instance, was making him very, very nervous. And the size of her arms? _Maker_.

He thought that the dwarf might be all right, and that little slip of an elven girl didn't look like she could hurt a flea. The really pretty one, however, standing next to the well-armored man who'd called him a _stranger_ had a very large staff on her back. Pardis had a deep, abiding respect for what magic could do.

And yet it was the two standing so close together – the incredibly beautiful woman and the strange looking, white-haired elf – who really made him nervous, even though neither one of them was currently armed.

Thank the Maker for small favors.

He couldn't have said exactly what it was about them, and he had a strong feeling he did not want to find out.

Isabela was telling her friends how they had met in Ostwick, and hadn't she been surprised when she ran into him down at the docks, right here in Starkhaven? He had been surprised, too and had spent the next few nights at the Minanter River Inn getting reacquainted with the saucy, sexy lady from Rivain. That part had been... incredibly, wonderfully exhausting.

When she'd found out, however, that he regularly came to Starkhaven on business, and that he knew a lot of the _right_ people in the city, her eyes had sparkled mischievously and she'd told him she had some friend he should meet. That these friends could use someone just like him to help them with a little problem they had, and that these friends could also pay very well.

Pardus thought that these people did not look like the type to have _little_ problems, but the _pay very well_ part might be true.

"And just how can he help us?" asked the dark-eyed beauty standing next to the elf.

"Pardus," Isabela said, and the way she purred his name was very distracting, "is good friends with the Customs Master, the Harbor Master and the head of the Merchant's Guild."

"Not the dwarven one," said the dwarf.

"No, the other, normal one," said Isabela.

"Hmph," grunted the dwarf.

"And?" questioned the elf, whose voice was, if possible, more menacing than his appearance.

"And," said Isabela, "if someone wanted to, say, effectively take control of the shipping lanes in and out of the city…"

Pardus cleared his throat and said, "_Someone_ might find that I'm their man."

He really hoped he wouldn't live to regret his words.

"That could be interesting," said Hawke, thoughtfully.

"I told you so," said Isabela smugly.

Hawke glared at her. "There remains, however, an issue of trust."

Fenris grunted.

"Perhaps," Pardus said, "If I could suggest…"

"I still say we should tie him up," interjected Varric.

"If you insist," purred Isabela.

"Wait!" Pardus exclaimed.

Hawke laughed. "You can tie him up later if you want to, Isabela. For now, let the man speak."

"Thank you," said Pardus. He was looking at her with some gratitude, but suddenly his eyes widened and out of the blue he said, "You're the Champion of Kirkwall!"

"I'll go get the rope," said Varric.

"No… I," he put his hands out in front of him, "It just suddenly clicked." He was staring at Fenris now.

"Time to talk fast," Hawke said. The man was looking truly panicked and although she felt some sympathy for him, she wanted this situation resolved, and quickly.

Pardus nodded. "I'll give you a letter of introduction. You can take it to my friends in the city." He licked his lips nervously. "They _will_ vouch for me."

"Sure of that, are you?" asked Aveline. "And we know you're not setting us up, how exactly?"

"You can read the letter, of course," he said.

* * *

Hawke walked over to him and held his gaze for long moments. She saw no deceit in his eyes, only what she thought was a plea for understanding and perhaps a tinge of fear.

"You know if this goes badly your life is forfeit," she told him.

"Understood," he replied and though he still sounded nervous, his gaze did not waver. That impressed her.

Hawke said, "Write the letter." She glanced around at her companions before adding, "I'll go tomorrow."

The protests erupted immediately around the room, but she held up her hand and repeated, "Write the letter," to Pardus, before turning to Isabela. "You are responsible for him until I return," she said.

"Hawke…" Isabela said her name beseechingly.

Hawke didn't answer. She'd had enough for one day. The only person in the room whose objections she would hear was now looking at her very intently. Hawke knew, however, that Fenris would delay that conversation until they had some privacy.

"This is not wise," Fenris said the minute their bedroom door was shut behind them.

"Probably not, but it's the right thing to do," she told him.

"You intend to travel to Starkhaven alone and risk yourself and our child all for the aid of this man we've just met?" He sounded angry, but she heard the fear underneath his words.

"Fenris," she said and put her arms around his neck. "We can't stay in this place forever just hoping Sebastian will reclaim his throne. There will be risks."

"Someone else should go," he said emphatically.

Hawke sighed. "You have to trust me," she said.

"Of course I trust you," he said. "That is not the point."

"And I trust you," she told him. "I trust that although you don't agree with me, you'll support me nonetheless."

"Hawke…" he said and lifted his hands to her face. "I cannot lose you. Why must you do this?"

"Because it _feels_ right," she told him gently, "and that has never led me astray."

"I want to be angry with you," he said.

Hawke hated the torment she saw in his eyes, and yet she knew her course was set. The pieces had all fallen into place in her mind, and her heart was filled with that confidence that only came when she was sure of her choice: it was time to take action. So, she did what she could to ease him.

"But you can't?" she teased him.

"No," he growled. "I cannot." He drew her into his embrace. "I hate that I cannot go with you."

She hated it, too. But she only said, "It will be all right, Fenris. I promise you."

"I hold you to that promise," he said. "I expect you to keep it as you did once before."

* * *

When Hawke wandered blearily down to the kitchen the next morning, she found Bethany already there.

"Tea?" she asked imploringly.

"Of course," Bethany replied and moved to prepare it for her. "But the supplies are running low."

Hawke sat at the table and rested her chin on her hand. "Discuss after tea," she managed.

A few minutes later, Bethany set a steaming mug before her. "No more honey, I'm afraid."

Hawke didn't care at the moment. "It's fine," she said and sipped at the hot brew.

It was several minutes before either of them spoke.

"Sister," Bethany said finally, "I've been wanting to ask you something."

"What's that?" Hawke asked, still rather blearily. She felt more asleep than awake. Another side effect of her pregnancy? The list was growing long.

"It's Sebastian," Bethany said.

"Oh?" _Okay, this could be interesting,_ she thought, and much better than being berated for traveling to Starkhaven alone, which is what she had expected.

"I've been following your advice," Bethany continued.

Hawke had to actually think for a moment before she understood what Bethany was talking about. "Oh, right," she said. "Sebastian. Advice." Hawke smiled.

"Yes," her sister said, "and the consequences have been… unexpected."

Hawke set her mug down and studied Bethany carefully. "In what way?" she asked.

"I find that…" Bethany began and her cheeks began to color. "I find that I'm losing control of the situation."

Hawke's smile grew wider. "That good, huh?"

"I don't know what to do, Mari," she said, a note of pleading in her voice.

Hawke stopped the teasing remark that was on the tip of her tongue. Bethany was clearly upset, and so she said, "Talk to him, Bethany."

"Talk to him?" her sister asked with some alarm. "About… what would I say?"

Hawke didn't have to consider her next words, they came straight from her heart. "Tell him the truth."

Bethany closed her eyes and said, "I find the truth somewhat embarrassing."

"Sister," Hawke said, and reached across the table for Bethany's hand, "He will be your husband."

"I know that," Bethany replied. She sighed. "It's just…"

"Bethany," Hawke said emphatically. "You're a Hawke. _True heart_."

Bethany held her gaze for long moments before she said, tears filling in her eyes, "You sound just like Father."

Hawke smiled again. "Talk to Sebastian," she repeated. "You'll both be glad for it."

Bethany nodded. "I'm sorry to be so selfish," she said. "I should be spending this time trying to talk you out of your trip to Starkhaven."

"You know very well you would have wasted your breath," Hawke replied.

"I believe you are the most stubborn person I've ever known," said Bethany. "You will be careful, Mari."

"Careful is my middle name," Hawke said and laughed.

"I often wish that were so," Bethany said with a shake of her head.

* * *

Donnic had taken to spending his free nights at the inn on the river, where he'd stayed with Aveline and the others when they'd first come to the city. It was a popular local gathering place, and although it wasn't The Hanged Man, he felt comfortable enough sitting at his table, nursing a surprisingly good pint of ale. It was fairly crowded on this particular evening, and he kept his eye on the door, watching as patrons came and went and hoping to see a familiar face. The letter he'd written, which detailed everything he'd learned in the past two weeks, was burning a hole in his pocket. He was taking a great risk carrying it with him, but he'd understood that risk very well before he'd agreed to his role.

For some reason, of all the familiar faces Donnic had thought he might see, he hadn't expected to see Hawke, but there she was walking in through the door and all alone. She looked directly at him and held his gaze just long enough to let him know she'd seen him, before moving to the bar to order a drink.

Donnic scanned the room and quickly noticed that she had captured the attention of most of the bar's patrons, and most of the patrons were men. Not surprising, considering it was Hawke, and also not surprising that before the barkeep had a chance to finish pulling her pint, she was already being approached by several of the men. He bit down on a smile. _They had no idea._

Things went along smoothly enough at first – Hawke laughed and talked with the men, mostly mercenaries and dockworkers, who were gathered around her. But then, the inevitable happened - one of them put his hand on her – on her waist to be specific. Hawke removed the offending hand with a smile and Donnic could only assume she explained that she would have none of that. The man, who was burly and about the same height as Hawke, was obviously drunk or stupid or both, because he reached for her again. Donnic tensed, ready to assist if needed, but before he could blink twice Hawke had pulled the man's own knife from his belt, slammed his hand on the bar and plunged the knife into his hand.

The scream was rather loud, and suddenly everyone was backing away from Hawke as if she had the Blight. That was probably her intention, but Donnic wondered if it were a good idea to draw so much attention to herself in quite that way. She didn't allow the poor bloke to suffer for very long before she pulled the knife back out and tossed the bloody blade onto the bar. With a quick word to the bartender, she picked up her pint and wandered off into the room. As she passed by one table Donnic heard a woman say, "Wallee's been asking for that for years. Good one on you!" followed by raucous laughter.

Apparently, she hadn't made any enemies with her little stunt.

Eventually she approached his table and said, rather loudly, "Excuse me, Serah, but have we met?" She set her pint down and continued. "Have you every been in Cumberland? You look just like this smithy I once knew in Cumberland."

"I don't believe we have met, Serah," said Donnic. "But if you'd like to join me…" he gestured to the empty chair across from him.

"I'm Lea," she said, and held out her hand to him as she took the proffered seat.

He shook it and said, "Donte."

"You look like a soldier," she said, smiling at him.

For a moment Donnic was confused. He'd never had Hawke turn the full blast of her smile on him in such a way. How could he ever have thought she was flirting with _him_ all those years ago?

He composed himself as best he could and replied, "And you look like trouble."

She laughed, and heads turned, but Donnic had spent enough time with her that he was used to that by now.

"Guess the bitch likes 'em big and stupid," said the injured man as he walked past their table on his way to the door.

Donnic made to rise, but Hawke's hand on his arm stopped him.

"I do like them big and stupid," said Hawke mischievously, still holding onto his arm. "Are you?"

For a minute he could only stare at her. He'd only ever seen her act this way around Fenris, and he suddenly could not fathom how the elf handled the power of her… attention. "Pardon me?" he asked, stalling for time to get his thoughts in order.

"Ooo, you _are_," she practically purred. "Why don't we…" she leaned in and whispered in his ear, "play along, get us a room," were her words.

Her soft breath tickled his ear… _Maker_. He loved his wife very much, he wasn't at all attracted to Hawke, but this was… "Um, yes," he replied.

"Go on soldier-boy," she said and smiled wickedly.


	35. Chapter 34

Mari had not yet been gone for an entire day, but Bethany noticed how quickly the mood in the house changed. Everyone seemed more subdued – well, except for Isabela and her friend. They barely left Isabela's room unless it was to eat. The poor man looked exhausted. And happy. Bethany sighed. She would like to be exhausted and happy in just that way.

She'd been trying all day to find an opportunity to talk to Sebastian alone, but there was always someone around, or someone walking into the room unexpectedly. Now, it was nearly time to retire and Bethany had decided she would go to his room tonight. She couldn't put it off any longer or she felt she would lose her nerve. _True heart_, Mari had said. She wished she were half as brave as her sister.

She lifted one hand and lightly tapped on the door.

"One moment," Sebastian said from within.

_You're a Hawke_, Bethany repeated in her mind.

"Bethany," Sebastian said upon opening the door. He was dressed, but only in loose pants and a white shirt – at least he wasn't wearing his blasted armor. "Is there something wrong?" he asked as he scanned the hallway behind her.

"That depends on what you mean by wrong," she said, and she bolstered her courage with a deep breath before she added, "Sebastian, I need to speak with you."

He looked uneasy, but moved away from the door and invited her inside. "Of course, my love," he said. "Tell me what is troubling you."

So polite. Such the gentleman. She had half a mind to forgo all talk and just throw herself into his arms. To prevent herself from doing so, she began to pace. Simply being alone in his room with him had her mind in a storm of thoughts and feelings. She found her eyes drifting to the carefully made bed, wanting more than anything to bring some chaos into his neatly ordered world.

All morning she had rehearsed the things she might say to him, but now that the moment was upon her, she found herself blurting, "I cannot do this."

Sebastian approached her and stilled her pacing with his hands on her shoulders. "You cannot… do what?" he asked, and she saw the fear in his eyes.

He thought she meant…

"This waiting," she said and her hands went to his face. She ran her fingers over his lips and her voice broke as she said, "I hate the Chantry and their blighted laws."

Sebastian's eyes went wide. "Bethany, do not say such a thing."

"I don't care anymore," she said and felt the tears falling from her eyes. "What right do they have to… to keep you from me?"

He brushed at her tears with his thumb and said, "The law is to ensure that the heirs to the throne are legitimate."

That made her angry. "As if I would allow anyone else to touch me," she said bitterly.

His smile was gentle. "Even though I believed that to be true, hearing it from your lips does my heart good."

"When I think of how long we might be forced to wait…" she said. "There must be some way…"

"We both suffer for a higher purpose, my love," he said gently.

"Stop being so noble!" she shouted. "You may be a prince, but you're still a man."

For some reason his smile grew wider. "Oh yes," he said. "A man who dreams of you every night."

Bethany felt so angry, so frustrated, that her fears, her embarrassment had all fallen away. She looked him straight in the eye and said, "Take me to bed, Sebastian."

He lifted a hand and sifted it through her hair. "I want you as my wife, Bethany." His eyes were sad as he said, "We must choose a long life together over short term pleasures."

"I may not be experienced," she countered, "But there are other ways, I'm sure."

It seemed that just the mention of _other ways_ lit a fire in his eyes. "That would be dangerous, my love. If I were to lose control…"

"You said you want me as your wife," she said.

"You know that is true," he began, "but…"

"No buts," she said emphatically. "I _trust_ you Sebastian."

He started to speak but she pressed her mouth to his and ran her tongue lightly over his lips.

"You know not what you ask," he said hoarsely against her mouth.

"Show me," she whispered, before she deepened the kiss.

She felt his hesitancy, and so she poured all of her frustrated longing, all of her love for him into that kiss until she felt his hands begin to move. They swept down the length of her back and pulled her close to him.

"Bethany," he moaned. Her heart leapt in her chest at the sound, and her legs went weak from the strength of his desire. She slipped her hands underneath his loose shirt, and reveled in this new freedom of touching him as she had always longed to do. It seemed her proper prince had the same idea, because soon he was untying her dressing gown. He stilled abruptly when he found she was naked beneath it, but that didn't last for long. Finally, finally after so very long, his hands began to explore her body. She found that when it came to Sebastian, she had no modesty left to her. She reveled in the feel of his touch, and squealed in delight when he lifted her and carried her to the bed.

Much, much later Bethany gazed at the wreck of the bed with sleepy, satisfied eyes. Sebastian had fallen asleep, his head resting on her breast, and his dear face looked more peaceful than she'd ever seen it.

Apparently, there were an awfully lot of _other ways _to make love, and Bethany could hardly imagine that anything could be more wonderful than being with him this night. She was still _pure_, by the Chantry's standards, but now she felt like she now truly belonged to him. Why Sebastian had been so worried was still a mystery to her. He'd seemed more than satisfied by her… _ability_ to please him.

Bethany sighed contentedly and thought – _Chantry zero, Bethany one_ - before drifting off into sleep.

* * *

Hawke shut the door behind them and took a seat at the room's small table, gesturing for Donnic to join her. She set her untouched pint of ale down with some distaste.

"So, _Donte_," she said with a grin, "what news?"

Donnic eyed her warily and pulled several sheets of folded parchment from his pocket, which he then set on the table between them in a hurried manner.

"Is something the matter?" she asked him. He looked as if he were afraid she might attack him as she had that lout downstairs.

"No," he said then shook his head. "Yes. What was that about down there?"

Hawke laughed. "You didn't like my impression of Isabela?" she asked.

"Isabela?" Donnic repeated. "Is that what that was?"

"I needed to be someone other than myself," she replied. "And I don't think I could pull of impersonating Varric."

That got a smile out of him. "You're too tall for one thing," he said. "But I think you out Isabela-ed even Isabela."

"I was afraid I went overboard with the knife thing," she mused.

"You certainly got everyone's attention," said Donnic. "Was that a good thing?"

"It was if I'm trying to create a reputation in a hurry," she said. Hawke lifted the papers from the table and asked, "Anything in here I need to know right away?"

Donnic shook his head. "I've done my best to set down a rough idea of Goren's schedule." He scratched his head. "The man is… he's nothing like Sebastian. It's hard to imagine they're related."

Hawke was glad to see Donnic finally begin to relax. "What happened to your sideburns?" she asked with a grin.

His hand drifted up to his bare cheek. "Lieutenant Mace is very strict about our appearance," he said and then added in a gruff voice, "Get that rat-fur off your face, Donte. You're a Palace Guard, not some riff-raff off the street."

"I wonder what Aveline will think?" Hawke asked with a laugh.

Donnic's expression softened. "How is she?" he asked.

"She's well," Hawke told him. She went on to explain about Pardus and why she'd come to the city.

"And these friends of his really are _friends_?" Donnic asked.

"Yes, it appears so," replied Hawke. "When I presented his letter they couldn't do enough for me. Apparently Pardus is as well-connected as he claimed."

"So what's next?" Donnic asked.

"I think," Hawke said, "it's time we leave the lodge and come to the city. Customs Master Creg owns quite a lot of property in Starkhaven and has very helpfully offered me the use of a house."

Donnic held her gaze for long moments. "So, it will begin," he said finally.

"Yes," said Hawke. "Unless the Crows beat us to it," she added.

"There have been no more attempts on Goren's life," said Donnic. "but there is one other thing you should know that isn't in there." He gestured to the folded parchment in her hand.

"What's that?" asked Hawke.

"Jergan's been gone from the palace for several days," he replied. "The official version of his absence is that he's gone to Tantervale on a diplomatic mission."

"Is there an unofficial version?" Hawke asked.

Donnic nodded slowly. "There are rumors in the barracks he's gone to track down Sebastian."

"You think he's gone to Kirkwall?" asked Hawke. Her stomach fluttered nervously. There were people in Kirkwall who could give Jergan quite a lot of information on Sebastian, and just who he was traveling with when he left.

"Wouldn't you?" asked Donnic.

"Yes," she agreed. "That's just where I would go."

* * *

Fenris paced the length of the long entrance hall. In the three days since Hawke had been away, he'd slept very little. He preferred taking the night watch, because it prevented him from having to lie in their bed alone. Without Hawke there in his arms, it was a torment beyond bearing.

Not that being apart from her wasn't a torment in and of itself, yet this was only the second time since they'd met that he was unable to seek her out if he so desired. The first time was when she'd been kidnapped by the Magistrate (he would not think of that).

Fenris cursed the lyrium markings in his flesh that kept him from being with Hawke. In Kirkwall, at least, he had not needed to hide himself away to protect her. In addition to that, these past days had brought up old memories of his life as a slave - memories of being trapped, chained and powerless to change his circumstances. He longed for some enemy to fight, some threat to meet head-on instead of these endless hours of waiting with such fear in his heart, such longing for the sound of her voice and for her soft touch.

"Venhedis," he said aloud.

"Cursing in Arcanum? That can't be good."

Fenris froze at the sound of her voice and searched the shadows at the edges of the room, afraid his fear and longing were causing him to hallucinate. But no, there she was, materializing as if from thin air. His Hawke. He drank in the sight of her - that perfect smile, her shining eyes – and it felt as if a long nightmare had finally ended.

"Hawke," he said and gathered her into his arms. He buried his face in her neck and breathed in her scent. It felt like his first real breath in days.

Her soft laughter was like a balm on his soul. "Hmm, I think I like this homecoming thing," she said as she nuzzled her cheek against his.

He lifted his head only to claim her mouth in a kiss, one filled with the untenable need he'd kept so tightly suppressed since she'd left him. Of their own accord, his fingers began to work at the clasps of her armor, every thought gone from his mind but his need to possess her. Hawke seemed to be of the same mind, because suddenly bits of his own armor were falling to the floor, and the fire inside of him grew into a raging furnace. He'd just lifted her daggers from the sheaths on her back when he heard a low chuckle and he froze.

"Oh no, don't stop," came Varric's voice from the shadows. "Never mind little old me."

"Varric," said Hawke breathlessly, "go away."

"Good to see you too, Hawke," Varric said happily. "But somebody's got to keep watch, so if you don't want me watching the show…"

Fenris barely registered what the dwarf was saying, and didn't care. His only thoughts were of his Hawke, his wife, so he tossed aside the daggers, lifted her into his arms and set off for their room.

"Goodnight, Varric," he heard Hawke say near his ear, but when he felt her mouth begin to nibble on his neck, he quickened his pace.

It wasn't until he was removing the last of her underclothes that Fenris found himself aware of anything more than his own urgent need. It was the red marks left by her armor on the swell of her abdomen that woke him from his overwhelming ardor.

"Hawke," he growled, and gently ran his fingers over where the armor had bit into her tender flesh.

She smiled at him ruefully. "I guess I'll need new armor," she said.

Fenris dropped to his knees and pressed soft kisses to her slightly swollen belly. Her hands pulled through his hair and she said, "I've miss you so much it hurt."

"I will not be parted from you again," he said, his voice hoarse.

"No, never again" she said as she sank down onto her knees and wrapped her arms around him. Her lips found his and soon he was lost in her - lost in that place that was theirs alone, where no one and nothing else mattered.

* * *

Sebastian found himself distinctly uncomfortable. The cause of his discomfort was the way the Hawke sisters were sitting outside on the lawn, their heads together apparently engaged in quite the interesting conversation. Also apparently, as he could not hear them, whatever they were talking about was more important that Hawke's news from Starkhaven. When he had tried to initiate that particular conversation at breakfast, Hawke (who had been watching her sister very intently) waved him off and told him that they'd wait for Isabela and Pardus, who invariably never left their room before lunch.

Why was he certain they were discussing him?

He turned from the window where he'd been watching the sisters when he heard someone approaching.

"Fenris," he said and moved away from his vantage point, but it did no good because the elf walked straight to the window and looked out.

"Sebastian," was all he said at first. He seemed to find the view as interesting as Sebastian himself had done.

"Hawke and Bethany are very close," Sebastian ventured. "I wonder what they…" but then he thought better of finishing that question and cleared his throat.

Fenris turned and looked at him with a knowing smile, but what he said was, "I require leather working tools."

"There may be some in the basement," Sebastian said feeling puzzled by the request. "There's a workshop down there. May I ask why?"

Fenris walked to the door off the parlor that led to the basement as he replied, "Hawke's armor needs adjusting."

Sebastian followed him, a long-held question forming in his mind. "Fenris," he said, "Is there some reason why you don't call your wife by her given name?"

He shrugged. "She is Hawke," was his only reply.

"But you don't call Bethany, _Hawke_," Sebastian pointed out.

"Why would I do that?" Fenris asked, and Sebastian was momentarily startled when the lyrium in his flesh began to glow, until he realized it was only to provide light as they descended the dark stairwell.

"Although Bethany will someday take my name, for now she is also a Hawke."

"True," Fenris said. "But she is not _Hawke_."

"That really makes no sense," Sebastian said, exasperated.

"Why does this bother you?" asked Fenris. They had reached the benches and tools used to repair weapons and armor.

Why did it bother him? Sebastian laughed. "I suppose it shouldn't matter."

Fenris only nodded and began examining the tools. "Do you have experience with these?" he asked.

"A little," Sebastian said. "My grandfather had a passion for hunting, and he preferred to repair his own leathers and bows."

"Perhaps you will assist me?" Fenris asked.

"What is it you are attempting to do to Hawke's armor?" Sebastian asked.

"Make room for her stomach," he replied and then he frowned. "Her armor left marks on her skin."

It wasn't as if Sebastian had been unaware of how much the man before him truly cared for Hawke, but for some reason those simple words brought him up short. They were talking about Hawke, who consistently put her life in danger; whom he'd seen severely wounded several times, in fact. And yet Fenris found a few marks on her skin upsetting?

As if Fenris could read his mind, he said, "You will understand when Bethany carries your child."

His words immediately brought to mind everything he had so recently experienced with Bethany, and just what is was he had not done with her. There would be no child yet, but of course eventually…

"Your care of Hawke is admirable." Even as he said the words Sebastian nearly cringed at the note of condescension in them. And yet it seemed to him that Fenris' attention to Hawke bordered on obsession, though it was not his place to say so.

Fenris, however, was looking at him as if he were an idiot child. "What I have now… I never believed it was possible." His markings grew brighter with his admission. "Do you understand? It is because of Hawke."

He'd always thought Fenris did not give himself enough credit. The Maker had seen fit to grant Fenris opportunities that he had then acted upon. Why would he credit only Hawke for his accomplishments? Sebastian said, "Surely you are also responsible."

"Not in the way you think," he said. "Everything I've gained was because Hawke did not waver in her loyalty to me – her love for me. Even when I ran from her…" He dropped his gaze for a moment. "Now that I am free to do the same for her, nothing is beneath my notice. She deserves more than I can ever give to her in a lifetime."

Despite the fact that Fenris was an tattooed, elven ex-slave, Sebastian had long ago stopped seeing those things about him. He saw a brave warrior, an honest man and a loyal friend. It was easy to forget the harsh realities of his past when faced with the fine person he had become. "You truly believe that if it were not for Hawke…"

"I would either be a fugitive, dead or once again a slave," Fenris answered vehemently. "For her I fought my master. For her I fought the hatred inside myself." And then more softly, he added, "Only for her."

Sebastian may not entirely agree with Fenris, but he would not judge him. He said, "I believe I understand you."

Fenris replied fiercely, "If you truly understand, then you will never forget the rare and precious gift you have in Bethany."

Sebastian felt Fenris' words with a power he had not expected. For reasons unknown to him, they brought into stark clarity his behavior since they'd left Kirkwall – so concerned with reclaiming his throne and making Bethany his wife that he'd missed the truth of her suffering. Had he been paying proper attention, she never would have needed to come to him – he would have known. _Stop being noble!_ she'd shouted at him.

And then it finally clicked what Fenris was trying to express. He'd been so sure he was doing the right thing, what was best for them both, and he had neglected to see what was right before his eyes. He felt ashamed that she'd even had to say those words to him, and he also felt a sense of indebtedness to his friend.

Not knowing how to convey exactly what he was feeling to Fenris, instead he said the one thing he thought his friend would understand. He need to show Fenris instead of merely telling him. "Shall we retrieve Hawke's armor?" he asked.

Fenris held his gaze for a long moment. "Yes," he said with a nod.

**FROM THE JOURNAL OF VARRIC TETHRAS**

Other than Hawke and Fenris' wedding, the story fodder around this place has been next to nothing. Unless you're interested in Daisy's attempts at playing the lute or watching rabbits hopping around on the lawn, that is. So you can imagine how happy I was when Rivaini brought that Pardus fellow home with her.

Leave it to Rivaini to break the cycle of boredom and provide some honest entertainment. Take for instance, the look on Pardus' face when he realized Hawke was the Champion of Kirkwall. Or the way Fenris growled at him. Hadn't heard that from the elf in way too long. And, I had the chance to make several jokes about rope.

I guess you had to be there.

After Hawke left for Starkhaven and Rivaini and Pardus pretty much stayed holed up in their room, I thought the fun might have been short-lived. Watching the elf pace around the house, excuse me – the _lodge -_ wasn't any fun, I'll tell you. I thought I might have to resort back to Daisy's lute playing when soon enough – jackpot.

The day after Hawke left, guess who I saw leaving Choirboy's room early the next morning? I met her in the hallway.

"Varric!" she said, obviously surprised to see me casually strolling there, and her cheeks turned all shades of pink.

"Good morning, Sunshine," I said cheerfully.

"I, um… I was just…" Sunshine is so cute when she stammers.

"Don't worry," I told her, "I'm the soul of discretion."

"You are not," she said, and frowned at me.

"Sunshine, you wound me," I said, and placed a hand over my heart.

"I will wound you," she said, "if you give me reason."

It was funny how much Sunshine reminded me of Hawke in that moment.

I actually did keep it to myself – until now. Not that I know exactly what they were doing in there, but that's okay, I have a really good imagination. But, it may be time to give Choirboy a new nickname. Randy-pants? Prince of Passion? Hmm, I'll have to think on this one.

I won't lie to you, I was worried about Hawke while she was gone from us. I know positively that she can take care of herself, but I wasn't crazy over the fact that no one had her back. So, wasn't I happy the next night when I went down to take my turn at watch? There was Hawke and her elf all wrapped around each other, bits of armor falling to the floor as if by magic.

I'll admit, I almost didn't interrupt them, but – hey – I have some standards. Sort of. Probably I'm just afraid that the elf might decide to remove my liver.

The next day at lunch Hawke finally gathered us all together and she gave me the best news I've had since we got here – we're leaving.

That's right; by this time tomorrow I will be the proud resident of some dockside house Hawke found through one of Pardus' contacts. I feel sorry for the elf, he hates the smell of fish, but I guess as long as he's with Hawke, he'll deal with it.

Me? I'll be so glad to get back to the noise and stench and crowds of a city, I won't mind eating fish for every meal if that's the trade-off. I'm still not exactly clear on how we're going to help Choirboy – I mean _Prince Randy-pants_ – get back on his throne. I'm not even sure why he wants to. Seems to me he's already got everything he needs for a happy life. But hey, maybe that's just me.

* * *

They'd split up, of course. The first group to leave the lodge at dawn was Isabela, Pardus and Aveline. Hawke thought the former guard captain had the best chance of keeping Isabela from doing anything too outrageous. They were to meet with the Customs Master and secure the key.

The second group that left at noon was Sebastian, Bethany and Varric, who would meet Aveline on the edge of town before proceeding to the house.

Hawke, Fenris and Merrill waited until dark to leave the lodge. Hawke was almost sorry to go, and looked fondly back at the wide lawn where she and Fenris had been married, wondering if she'd ever come back to this place again.

They'd found a long, hooded cloak and a set of plain leather armor, which was the best they could do by way of a disguise for Fenris. Hawke kept glancing over at him – he looked so mysteriously sexy with the dark cloak billowing around his lithe frame. Shivery.

Her own armor was now much more comfortable thanks to the efforts of Fenris and Sebastian. They'd lengthened her belt and added a leather panel that gave her just enough extra room for comfort, and also allowed her the ease of movement she so desperately needed.

The fat moon was both a blessing and a curse as they walked along. It provided enough light on this cloudless night for them to see by, but every time the breeze tugged at Fenris' cloak his markings reflected the moonlight like a beacon.

"What will we do when we get there, Hawke?" asked Merrill.

She'd obviously paid no attention to their lengthy discussion of yesterday, so Hawke said, "We'll break into the palace, kill Goren Vael and all live happily ever after."

"What if we get caught?" Merrill asked with some alarm.

"Then I suppose we will all live unhappily ever after in the dungeons."

"Oh," Merrill breathed, "I wouldn't like that. Dungeons are dark, and full of spiders."

Hawke laughed. "Spent a lot of time in dungeons, have you?"

"Oh no, of course not," said Merrill. "But there are lots of dungeons in Varric's stories, and they are always dark and have spiders." She paused for a minute. "And sometimes rats."

"We'll be very careful and not get caught," said Hawke. She felt as if she were talking to a small child.

"Are we going to kill him tonight? Or will we have a chance to sleep first?" Merrill persisted with her questions.

Hawke sighed. "Tonight we'll get some sleep, in a nice house, and tomorrow we'll decide when to kill him."

"That's good," said Merrill. "I'm already feeling tired, and you know my aim isn't very good when I…"

"Merrill," said Hawke sternly.

"I'm rambling," she said sheepishly.

"Yes," said Hawke.

And so it went for the next several hours until the lights of Starkhaven twinkled below them. The moon cast a long ribbon of milky light on the slowly moving river, and the scene was actually quite enchanting.

"Ooo," breathed Merrill. "It's much bigger than Kirkwall, isn't it?"

"It is," agreed Hawke.

"I hope Varric brought twine," she said as they began the long descent into the city.


	36. Chapter 35

**FROM THE JOURNAL OF VARRIC TETHRAS**

Starkhaven is just as pretentious as I remembered it to be, but at least here on the riverfront it's tolerable. Granted, it isn't Lowtown by any stretch of the imagination, and I still miss my old rooms at the Hanged Man. Here's the news, though – my new room at the Minanter River Inn (henceforth simply called the Inn) isn't half bad, and with Rivaini and her new boyfriend just down the hall, it feels almost like old times.

Not that the house Hawke rented wasn't nice enough, but it was a bit cramped with nine of us staying there and only three bedrooms. Rivaini and Pardus left after the first night, and I wasn't far behind them. I don't think Aveline is too happy sharing a room with Daisy, either, so we'll see how long that lasts. At least she had the chance to visit with Donnic the other night. You should have seen the expression on her face when she saw him without his scruffy side-burns. I thought she was going to cry, but whether from joy or grief those chops were gone, I couldn't say. Hehe.

Now that we're here in the city, things are progressing along at a much better pace. All of that sitting around in the country was really getting to me. Hawke, well, she's been stirring up all kinds trouble. Did I mention she's been letting her hair grow out? No? Well, she has and even though I never would have guessed it, it suits her. Maybe it's the hair, or maybe it's because she's a mama-to-be, but she's more beautiful than ever. You won't be surprised to learn that the people around here are all quite taken with her. Of course they are, she's Hawke, although in Starkhaven everybody calls her Lea.

Prince Randy-pants has been keeping a low profile since we arrived, but there's already a lot of talk on the street about returning the "rightful heir" to the throne. Jergan still hasn't returned to the city and it's been nearly a month. I wonder if he's been in Kirkwall all this time or if he had some other agenda? Guess we'll find out eventually.

Also of interest is the elf, who has taken to wearing that billowing black cloak everywhere, even though he's only gone out at night. I think the locals think he's some kind of elven holy man, and they're half fascinated, half terrified of him. On the streets they call him The Arcanum. I don't know why – maybe somebody heard him cursing in Tevinter or something. (edit - apparently it's something to do with him being mysterious - V.T.)

We've been in a few fights since we've been here, usually of the street thug variety. Like I said, it's all making Hawke very popular, and where she sows tiny seeds of dissension, they take root and grow with miraculous speed.

The way things are going, the people of Starkhaven might take care of this little rebellion for us. Or at least the common people. The nobles here are another matter, but that one is all on the head of Prince Randy-pants. I think he's been working with that woman, Flora Har-something-or-other, to arrange a meeting with some of the wealthy families - the ones who'd like to see a _true_ Vael on the throne again. It's all very sneaky, in a high-class sort of way.

All in all, I'm pretty much content with my new situation. My little band of street urchins (you have to have urchins at your fingertips if you're want to be in the know, no matter what city you live in) is growing every day. The coin is beginning to flow again and the ale here is not bad. Not bad at all.

* * *

Hawke stood naked before the mirror, gazing at her reflection from the side, studying her bump. Her best reckoning was that she was somewhere between three and four months pregnant, and although she had no experience from which to judge, she thought her bump was rather… large. She pressed her hand to the taut skin, and for the first time was truly struck with the sudden realization that a life was growing there. _Maker_. She was going to be a mother.

Of course, that brought thoughts of her own mother to mind, and filled her with sadness that her child would never know its grandmother. Leandra would never hold this baby in her arms, never have the chance to know the Hawke/Amell line carried on. Hawke's eyes began to leak, and of course that's exactly the moment Fenris entered their bedroom.

"Hawke, I…" he began, but then he saw her naked in front of the mirror, crying and the words died on his lips. She supposed he must have been getting used to her continual waterworks, because he no longer became upset himself. Instead, he simply came to her and gathered her in his arms, which made her cry even harder.

His response to that was to pick her up and sit with her on the bed, soothing her with soft sounds and gentle hands. Although Hawke certainly hadn't fallen in love with him because he was sweet or kind, she appreciated those qualities in him very much now, and her sobbing began to ease.

His hand went to the swell of her belly and moved in slow circles. "She grows quickly," he said.

"She?" Hawke asked as she wiped at her tears. "You think the baby is a girl?"

Fenris shrugged. "When referring to our child, I do not like saying _it_," he pronounced the last word with some distaste. "Yet I rather like the idea of a small version of you." His hand began to drift, caressing her in ways that Hawke found deliciously distracting.

She smiled at him and said, "From the size of my bump, I don't know if she'll be all that small."

"It this not usual?" he asked and now his hands were working at the perpetual knots in her lower back.

"I have no idea," she said. "I've never been around another pregnant woman other than Mother, and I was only three when the twins were born."

"Perhaps it is time to see a midwife," he suggested.

Hawke sighed as she felt the tense muscles in her back relax. "Yes," she agreed, no longer interested in conversation. She began to unfasten his shirt, pressing kisses to each newly uncovered inch of exposed flesh.

Someone chose that moment to bang at the door.

"Not now," Hawke told the unknown person, but the banging increased, and Bethany's voice now accompanied it.

"Mari!" Bethany shouted.

Hawke looked at Fenris, who nodded and rose to open to the door, while she hastily pulled on her robe.

Fenris had barely turned the knob before Bethany pushed her way into the room. Her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, and tears fell freely down her cheeks. "Oh Mari," she sobbed.

Hawke quickly tied her robe and took hold of Bethany's shoulders. "What is it sister?"

"It's… it's Sebastian," she said and broke into a new fit of sobbing.

Aveline entered the room at that moment, and Hawke looked to her for the answers Bethany was unable to give.

"Flora Harimann set him up," Aveline said in clipped tones. "He's been taken to the palace under heavy guard."

Hawke's stomach sank and she said, "I should have gone with him."

Aveline frowned. "Why? Because you could have protected him better than I did?" she said bitterly.

"No! Aveline… I didn't mean…" Hawke said, while at the same time trying to soothe Bethany.

Fenris spoke up then, "Tell us what happened, Aveline."

"It was going well," she said with a heavy sigh. "Many of the noble families were ready to support him on principle. Goren is not a popular ruler."

"A single betrayer then," Fenris said.

"Yes," said Aveline. "Flora let the guards in, and I think they would have taken me too, but Lord Cherin spoke for me, told them I was his bodyguard."

"Surely Flora knew you as Guard Captain in Kirkwall," said Hawke.

Aveline nodded. "I don't know why she didn't protest," she said, and the distress on her face was apparent. "I'd rather have stayed with Sebastian."

"Was Donnic with the Palace Guards?" asked Fenris.

"No," said Aveline. "But my hope is that he will get word to us soon."

"Bethany," Hawke said firmly. "Sister, look at me."

Bethany hiccupped, wiped at her tears and nodded.

"Can you pull yourself together?" asked Hawke. "Sebastian needs you to be strong."

Bethany looked at her with stricken eyes, and Hawke could see the battle waging within her.

"True heart," Hawke whispered to her sister. "Do not waver." Whatever was to come, Bethany would be essential for both her destructive and her healing magic, but if she couldn't get ahold of herself…

Fenris approached them then, and gently pulled Bethany from Hawke's grasp. Her sister looked up into his eyes in surprise.

"I know what you now feel," he said in a low growl, and glanced at Hawke before returning his gaze to Bethany. "We will save him, but we will need your help."

Whatever it was her sister saw in Fenris' eyes, it seemed to affect her. After several long moments, she nodded and straightened her back.

"You can do this?" Fenris asked her.

Bethany took a deep breath. "I can," she said, her voice much stronger.

Hawke began to dress.

* * *

They were all gathered in Varric's room, except for Merrill, who couldn't be found.

"Daisy's been spending a lot of time in the alienage," said Varric.

"Isabela," said Hawke. "Go down to the bar in case Donnic shows up."

Pardus looked at Hawke, a question in his eyes. "You stay," she said.

Isabela nodded and left the room.

Hawke spread out Sebastian's map of the palace on the room's single table. "I miss your giant table, Varric," she said.

"So do I, Hawke," he said. "This place look impenetrable," he added looking down at the map.

"We need Donnic," Aveline said. "Yet who knows how long before he can get away?"

"We don't know, so we plan with the information we have," said Hawke. She allowed her eyes to drift over the palace plans not looking at anything in particular, but hoping something would jump out at her - something previously overlooked. Sebastian had gone over them with her dozens of times, and she knew the hallways, rooms and passages like the back of her hand. She knew each and every way into the dungeons, all heavily guarded of course, but who knew if Sebastian would even be taken there? It would do them no good to attempt to break into the dungeons if Goren had him hidden away elsewhere.

It was then that she noticed exactly where her eyes had rested on the map - a faded, jagged series of lines leading from the Chantry directly to… directly to Goren's private suite.

"What this?" she asked, and pointed at the lines with her finger.

"I assumed it was a wall or a fence," said Aveline.

Hawke shook her head and pointed to another series of thicker lines, which were struck through with what looked like bolts. "That's the symbol for a wall," said Hawke.

"I don't see anything else like those jagged lines," said Varric as he scanned the maps yet again.

Bethany offered, "In Kirkwall there were several underground passages into the Gallows."

"But from the Chantry to the Royal Suite," said Aveline. "To what purpose?"

"A bolt hole," said Fenris. "Very common with the Magisters in Tevinter."

"Why would Sebastian neglect to mention something as important as a secret underground passage?" asked Varric. Hawke was surprised Varric hadn't called him "Choirboy" or "Prince Randy-pants," but perhaps he didn't want to upset his Sunshine just now.

She tried to remember. Had he said anything about those strange, faded lines? She honestly didn't think he had. And if he had not, then why the omission? Like Aveline, she'd probably assumed it was some sort of boundary marker, and she cursed herself that she hadn't question the prince on it further when she'd had the chance.

"Aveline, go wait for Donnic, and tell Isabela to get up here," she said.

"What are you planning, Hawke?" Aveline asked, her brow furrowed with concern.

"A little nighttime visit to the Chantry," Hawke said. She turned to Pardus and said, "You look like a man who can avoid being seen when he wants to."

Pardus nodded. "I'm better than Isabela."

Hawke's eyebrows rose. "That's quite the claim," she said.

"Wait and see," he grinned.

"Hawke, I don't like this," said Aveline. "It's too risky, and you don't even know what you're looking for."

"Aveline, down to the bar, Isabela, up here with me," was all Hawke said as she stared down the her friend.

Aveline left the room in a huff.

"What _are_ you looking for?" asked Bethany.

"Why Sebastian, of course," she replied. "And we're going to find him, sister."

* * *

Fenris pulled open the Chantry door as wide as it would go, and entered the hall with deliberate steps; his cloaked and hooded form intended to catch the eye. At this late hour there was unlikely to be much activity, and Hawke was glad to see her guess confirmed as she slipped in behind him and moved into the shadows, with Isabela and Pardus right behind her. Bethany and Varric waited outside in the Chantry's small garden, while Aveline remained at the inn in hopes that Donnic may yet still make an appearance there.

"Pardon me," said Fenris is his low, rumbling voice.

The Sister before the altar stood watching him with wide eyes. "Y-yes Serah?" she stammered.

"I apologize for the lateness of the hour," Fenris said with a slight bow, "but by your leave, I have come to pray."

"Of course," the Sister said nervously, "the Maker counts not the hour of the day."

Hawke could not distinguish Fenris' reply as she moved into a long hallway to begin her search – nor could she see Isabela or Pardus as they separated out to do the same.

The Starkhaven Chantry was larger than Kirkwall's, and the comparison brought to mind the fact that Kirkwall no longer boasted a Chantry. For the first time in months, she thought of Anders and wondered what had become of him.

_Focus Mari_, she thought and returned her attention to the search for an entrance that would lead them beneath the Chantry proper, where she assumed she would find the hidden passage – if there was one to be found at all.

Twice she was forced to conceal herself as robed figures moved silently through the darkened hallways on some unknown nightly errand. When she finally found a door that opened onto a dark stairwell leading down, she went in search of the others.

* * *

In had been no small feat to gather their party and move down into the Chantry's basement, undetected. Most difficult of all was Fenris, as the Chantry Sister seemed fascinated by him, and Hawke had stood in the shadows for what felt like hours waiting for an opportunity to collect him. Finally the woman had been called away, and it was with some haste that Hawke and Fenris joined the others.

Hawke had never seen anything like the underground of the Chantry before. It seemed more like a series of caverns roughly carved out of solid rock than a basement. If anything, it was somewhat reminiscent of what they'd found beneath the Harimann mansion, but it actually _felt_ more like the Deep Roads than she liked to admit. It was almost a relief when they were attacked by shades almost as soon as they left the stairwell and entered the first chamber, if only because it was not as bad as being attacked by Darkspawn. No threat of taint and all that.

"Why are there shades under the Chantry?" Bethany shouted above the din of fireballs exploding around them.

"Pick one," Hawke shouted back, "blood mage or demon."

"Less talking, more smiting," shouted Varric.

When all the shades lay in sticky piles of residue on the rough stone floor, Pardus said breathlessly, "I've never seen anything like that."

"Welcome to Hawke's world," Isabela said with a saucy wink.

It was the first time Hawke had been in what she considered a _real fight_ in quite a while, and the exhilaration of it was intoxicating. She was also glad to discover that her training these past months had held her in good stead, and that despite her _bump_, she felt strong and very much alive in the moment. Fenris caught her eye, and the look he gave her was a question, which she answered with a wide smile. _Yes love_, her smile said, _I'm fantastic, thanks for asking._

Between Fenris' lyrium glow and the soft light from Bethany's staff, they maneuvered the maze of caverns without difficulty. Hawke had expected some sort of straight tunnel that led to the palace, not this twisted underground labyrinth. They'd just entered a high-ceilinged chamber with long stalactites hanging from the ceiling and the echoing sound of water dripping from above, when a familiar roar rebounded off the stone. It was only a few seconds before Hawke realized that it hadn't been just an echo – suddenly at least a dozen rage demons were rising from the floor. She had never encountered so many at once, and Hawke suddenly wished for Merrill and her electricity magic.

Without Merrill, it was a tough fight, as the rage demons rose and descended into the floor like gophers bolting in and out of their holes. Fenris kept close behind her to shield her from the demon's lethal back attacks, and more than once she felt the familiar tingle of Bethany's healing magic wash over them both. She glanced over and saw Varric standing his ground in front of her sister, Bianca singing in his hands and sending bolt after bolt into the fiery demons. Unfortunately for the demons, however, Isabela and Pardus were back attacking the back attackers with obviously delight. Isabela's laughter rang throughout the cavern and resounded off the stone, which created the illusion of dozens of Isabelas laughing at once. Hawke took the last rage demon down herself with a backward thrust of her daggers, as Fenris pummeled it from the front.

"The farther in we go, the stronger the foes," said Hawke as they gathered together to assess injuries and distribute healing potions.

"What I'd like to know," said Varric with a wink, "is how far there is to go."

"You two always joke at the most inappropriate times," remarked Bethany.

Fenris said, "It would be useful to know if someone is controlling these demons."

"Or if the veil is thin or torn here," added Hawke. They all turned to Bethany.

She nodded and closed her eyes,while drawing in slow steady breaths. Bethany was still and silent – the only sound the perpetual dripping of water from the ceiling. The light from her staff faded and went out as she focused her senses elsewhere. Only Fenris' lyrium glow provided any light, and Hawke felt the darkness pressing in on her most uncomfortably.

After a time Bethany opened her eyes and said, "The veil is weak. A demon, I think, though I'm not sure what kind."

With the light from her sister's staff restored, Hawke moved away from the group and stared absently into the high ceiling of the cavern for long moments.

"What's going on?" asked Pardus.

"Wait for it," said Varric.

"Wait for what?" he questioned.

"Shh," Varric answered. "It's Hawke's thing she does."

Bits of conversation were playing through Hawke's mind; scraps of knowledge she'd gathered from her time in Starkhaven were coalescing in her brain in no discernable order. She'd learned long ago to keep her mind clear and her heart calm, allowing a pattern to emerge of its own accord. After a time she turned back to the others.

"A sloth demon," she said.

Pardus asked, "How can you be sure?"

Hawke shrugged as she turned to Pardus and held his gaze. "Goren is an indolent, uncouth man," she said. "He is ill kempt and is so lazy he allows Jergan to practically rule all of Starkhaven."

Varric looked smugly at Pardus and asked Hawke, "But what about dear Flora?"

"Perhaps she is her mother's daughter, after all," offered Fenris.

"Or perhaps," Hawke said, "dear Flora decided she wanted to be Princess of Starkhaven after all."

"What do you mean?" asked Bethany in some confusion.

"Flora's mother wanted to marry her off to Goren," explained Hawke, "but perhaps she prefers a different Vael."

"Sebastian?" exclaimed Bethany.

"Makes sense," agreed Varric.

Hawke watched as her sister's expression went from surprise to outrage to anger. "Sebastian would never marry her," Bethany said in steely tones.

"Not by choice, Sunshine," said Varric kindly.

"She will not have him," said Bethany with conviction.

Hawke smiled. That's what she wanted to hear from her sister. Her heart swelled with pride at Bethany's ability to rise above her fear for Sebastian and put her energies toward taking the necessary action to save him.

"So what's the plan, sweet thing?" asked Isabela.

"Easy," said Hawke. "We kill the Sloth demon and storm the palace."

Fenris countered, "We do not even know if there is an entrance to the palace at the other end of this cursed, cavernous tunnel."

"Would you care to make a small wager on that, elf?" asked Varric.

"I'll take that action, Varric," said Isabela. "Five sovereigns."

"Why Rivaini, since when do your pockets run so deep?" Varric asked.

Isabela smiled slyly. "Living in Starkhaven has turned out to be very profitable," she said and glanced at Pardus.

"Stop it you two," said Bethany sternly and then turned to Hawke. "Lead the way, sister," she said.

And Hawke did.

* * *

They fought their way through several more groups of shades and abominations before coming to the largest chamber yet. It was the last one, by all appearances because at the other end was a set of wide stone steps leading up to a door. The brass door looked incongruous set against the rough rock and stone of the walls. Here, however, the pillars of stalactite and stalagmite looked almost as if they were set purposefully in long rows along the sides of the cavernous room. The floor was, oddly enough, flat – almost appearing polished – as if it belonged in a grand hallway instead of in caves under the ground. The room was filled with an ambient light that seemed to come from nowhere and yet from everywhere at once.

When they first entered the chamber it appeared empty, but Hawke stopped them from proceeding toward the apparent exit with a raised hand.

Bethany said, "The source of the power is here."

Hawke caught movement from the corner of her eye, and a moment later a figure emerged from behind a pillar. It was Hawke. The figure was identical to her in every way except one – this other, fake Hawke was huge with child, as if she could give birth at any moment.

She hears Fenris' low growl just behind her, which awoke her from her initial shock.

"Did you know," the demon Hawke said in a languid imitation of her own lilting voice, "that I carry two lives?"

Fenris made to move, but Hawke grasped his arm and held him fast.

"Whatever it is you want," said Hawke, "the answer is no."

Demon Hawke laughed then, and the sound chilled her very soul. "I have what I want," it said. "One male child, the other female, and both doomed to die before they take their first breath." It rubbed its stomach in a loathsome imitation of a caress.

"You lie," said Hawke, but the fear in her heart was real.

"You think so?" the demon asked softly, its voice sedating and seductive. "Have you never considered the poison their father has passed onto them? The lyrium is corrupting their lives before they are even born."

Hawke felt the muscles in Fenris' arm go rigid, heard the gasp of pain he could not contain. She looked down at herself, and knew the demon spoke at least one truth, knew that she carried twins, just as her mother had. It explained why she was growing so big this early in her pregnancy. But that did not mean… surely it could not mean. She felt a keen sense of despair then, a hopelessness she had not felt since her mother was murdered. She turned to look at Fenris and he stood, his head bowed and his eyes closed, his face a mask of shame.

The demon Hawke spoke again. "You see, I need not lie. I have everything I want. Your fate is of your own making."

Hawke felt her resolve fading, could barely remember why she stood in this cavern deep under the city. Could it be possible? Could the lyrium burned into her love's flesh poison their unborn children? She didn't know, could not know, but even the possibility was like someone had removed the ground from beneath her feet, and she felt herself falling, sliding down into a well of despair so deep it felt bottomless.

For long moments there was only silence, only the weight of the misery and wretchedness filling her chest until Hawke felt unable to breathe.

It was Bethany's voice that broke the silence, and it was a voice filled with strength and purpose. "You cannot hide your true form from me, demon," she said. Bethany lifted her staff and a burst of blue light washed over the false Hawke and suddenly the demon looked like any other shade they'd ever fought.

It laughed again. "No matter," it said. "My appearance does not change the truth of what I have said."

"Truth?" and now Bethany laughed, and Hawke felt some small stirring of her strength returning. "What do you know of truth? You twist and weave your words until even you do not understand the truth." Bethany raised her staff again and even as her fire hit the creature, the floor beneath them erupted with shades and abominations, while skeletal warriors and archers with their bows held aloft, emerged from behind the pillars and attacked.

For a moment Hawke did not know if she could respond, her arms felt heavy, her legs sluggish. And then she felt Fenris' arm go around her and his voice in her ear. "Hawke," he said, "you must fight."

An arrow from one of the archers whizzed by so close to his head that her instincts to protect him broke through the malaise so recently laid on her by the demon. She felt a surge of heat and was filled with a sudden rage, which sent power into her limbs and courage back into her heart. She nodded and dropped into a roll, allowing Fenris to swing his sword in a wide arc.

The fight was on.


	37. Chapter 36

The battle to get to the sloth demon was hard won. Hawke and Fenris fought in synchronized precision; she a blur of movement, always surrounding and supporting her fierce warrior's tactics with a finesse born of years of experience. Fire exploded throughout the cavern, followed by a rain of arrows from Bianca. Corpses and shades fell all around her, clearing Hawke's path to the creature who'd filled her with such despair. She smiled as she slid silently through the chaos. Although fear for her unborn babes still clenched at her heart, stronger still was her determination to obliterate this demon who'd dared to put it there in the first place.

Their timing was perfection itself. Bethany threw a wall of ice at the demon, and Hawke's instincts took over. As Fenris raised his broad sword she flipped behind it, her daggers poised to strike. There was an explosion of sound and of a pure, white light, as warrior and rogue hit at the same instant, obliterating the vile creature into nothing more than particles of dust that floated harmlessly in the damp air of the cavern. The heavy atmosphere lifted, even though the fight was not yet done.

Dispatching the remainder of the Fade creatures was straightforward yet exhausting work, at least for Hawke. Bethany also appeared tired and strained, but nevertheless came immediately over to her sister and bathed Hawke in healing magic for long moments.

"Thank you," Hawke said with a tired smile.

Bethany returned her smile, but when she turned to see who else needed healing, Varric chimed in.

"No way, Sunshine," he said and handed her two potions.

Hawke's affection for the dwarf warmed her heart in that moment. For a while no one spoke as potions were passed around and weapons cleaned. Isabela, of course, searched the remains of their foes. Fenris came to her side and Hawke leaned into his arms gratefully.

"I think," said Varric, "we could all use some rest before we have a go at the door."

Hawke nodded. Now that the heat of battle was over, the words of the demon were echoing through her mind, even though its oppressive aura was gone.

_Doomed to die before they take their first breath._

She tilted her head to look at Fenris, who was watching her with some concern. She could clearly see the internal struggle on his face and she wanted to ease him, but could not find the words, blocked as they were by her own fears.

It was Bethany who finally spoke as she came and stood beside them. "Both of you," she said, "look at me." The steely resolve on her sister's face had not faded and Hawke felt some of her fear subside as Bethany continued.

"The best thing about my years in the Circle was how much I learned," she told them. "Father taught me well in practice, but the First Enchanter…" a look of pain crossed her pretty face at the mention of Orsino, "was a master of magical theory. Sloth demons are extremely accomplished at taking kernels of truth and twisting them into demoralizing lies." Bethany reached for Hawke's hand, and she grasped it gladly. "The demon may have actually done us a favor," she went on, "because now we will find a way to make sure my niece and my nephew are safely born."

What Fenris said next eased Hawke's mind and filled her heart with pride for him. "Although I have suffered many ill-effects from these markings," he said with some conviction, " I yet live." He gazed down at her, his expression determined. "I am sorry Hawke, but I promise you we will protect them."

Hawke lifted her free hand and cupped his cheek. "This is not your fault, my love," she said softly. "I will hear no apology from you." She turned to her sister and said, "So you truly believe…"

Bethany interrupted her. "I know it in my heart, as surely as I know how much I love you, sister," she said.

And as if in response, Hawke felt a fluttering deep in her womb – a quickening of life for the first time. Her hand flew to her stomach.

"Fenris!" she exclaimed.

"What is it?" he asked in concern as his arms tightened around her.

"I felt them," she said softly, but could say no more, so overwhelmed was she with a fierce love for her yet unborn children.

"They are... moving within you?" he asked.

Hawke nodded and pressed into him, wishing nothing more than that they could be alone. It was as if the babes chose that moment to let her know there _was_ life growing inside her. Two lives, already more precious to her than she could understand.

* * *

The watch was split up and they rested for several hours. Even Bethany agreed to the reprieve. As anxious as she was to reach Sebastian, she knew if she did not restore her strength, she could help no one.

Hawke awoke to the gentle caress of Fenris' hand on her brow, feeling refreshed and much more her usual self. Stronger than the insidious half-truths of the demon's words was her own true heart. Besides, she had years of experience when it came to accomplishing the seemingly impossible.

She smiled up at Fenris. "Hi," she said, which made his lips quirk into a half-smile, just as she'd hoped.

"I have decided," Fenris told her, "that you are indomitable."

Hawke laughed. "Am I?"

"Yes," he growled. "I am quite certain."

"Sorry to interrupt all the growling and sweet talk," said Isabela, "but we've been having a look at that door. " She gestured toward the top of the stone stairway.

"And?" Hawke asked as Fenris helped her to her feet.

"There isn't even a lock to pick if I wanted to," she said. "It's solid from top to bottom."

"Let's have a look," said Hawke.

"It could be that it only opens from the other side," remarked Pardus, as he pushed a wayward strand of dark hair out of his eyes.

"Yes," agreed Fenris, "that would make sense, if it is indeed an escape route."

Hawke began to examine the door. "Maker I hope not," she said.

* * *

"I haven't yet decided," Prince Goren Vael told a gagged and chained Sebastian. He paced back and forth and waved his dagger in the air. "If I will have you publicly executed, or slit your throat myself."

It wasn't as if Sebastian could respond, so instead he put his anger and disgust into the glare he leveled at the shorter man.

"Of course, there is a third option," Goren said as he stopped and brought the tip of his dagger to the soft skin below Sebastian's chin. "I can simply make you… disappear." Goren eyes glanced toward the back of the room, where a brass door seemed to softly glow in the reflected light of the lanterns.

Sebastian had always been curious about that door. When he'd been a young boy still living with his parents, he'd been told sternly and often by his father to stop fiddling with its locks. Of course that had only increased his curiosity, being who he was. But he had never been able to make that door open, or find the keys to it.

Goren continued. "The people of Starkhaven would never know your fate," he said almost to himself. "Perhaps they'd assume you were killed in Kirkwall, after all."

Personally, Sebastian preferred the idea of a public execution, because it would buy him time and give his friends a chance to help him. It also might start a much-needed rebellion against this man who unjustly called himself Prince. If Goren decided to slit his throat right now, however, there was little he could do but bleed all over the expensive carpeting, until he was dead. That thought brought the first real thrill of fear to Sebastian's heart. Not because he feared death - he felt secure in his place at the Maker's side - but because he would be separated from his Bethany. He could not endure the thought of her left alone to bear the grief of their final parting.

"I had thought to wait for Jergan's return," Goren said pushing at the dagger until Sebastian felt a sharp pain and a warm trickle of blood slide down his throat, "but I find that I no longer require his council."

For a moment the pressure eased away from Sebastian's throat, and he watched as Goren's expression became puzzled. "I'm not sure why I ever listened to him in the first place," he said absently. But then the malice quickly returned to his face and he grinned evilly. "Yes, I believe it will be option number three for you, dear cousin," he said. "Poof," he said and splayed his fingers in the air. "No more Sebastian."

Goren laughed at his own joke as he moved to the room's other door – the one that led to out of his suite and into the palace proper. "I'll leave you to contemplate your early demise while I attend to some pressing business."

When Goren opened the door, there between the two guards stood Flora Harimann. She immediately plastered a smile on her face and said, "Your Highness," as she dropped a curtsy.

"Now, now Flora dear you must call me Goren," he said. "What can I do for you?" His voice was so simpering that Sebastian felt his stomach turn.

"These requisitions require your signature," she said, holding out several sheet of parchment to him.

Goren glanced down at them. "Well, it seems royal weddings are quite costly," he remarked.

"If there is a problem…" she began.

"No, no of course not," he replied. "The Prince of Starkhaven must spare no expense when marrying his Princess." He placed his thick fingers on her cheek and Sebastian saw that she winced slightly before regaining her smile.

"Thank you, Goren," she said.

"I'm afraid they will have to wait, however, for I am already late for a meeting with First Enchanter Bergrand," he said, and took her arm to escort her from the room.

"Perhaps," she said, "perhaps I should stay – keep an eye on your _guest_."

"As you wish," he replied and hurried through the door. "I shall return before the evening meal," he called back to her.

Flora shut the door firmly behind her and eyed Sebastian speculatively. She said, "Poor Sebastian, bound and gagged."

Sebastian eyed her impassively. Flora had sworn her aid to his cause, and like so many before her, had betrayed that trust. She and Goren deserved each other, he thought.

She sauntered over to where he stood. The chains around his wrists and ankles made movement impossible, but his desire to back away from her was overwhelming.

Flora reached behind his head and worked at the knot that secured the gag in his mouth. "Goren intends to kill you, did you know?"

The cloth came free, and she dabbed at the blood on his throat with it. "Even now you're bleeding," she said and tsk'd with her mouth.

He chose not to answer her, but continued to look down at her in contempt.

"What's the matter, Sebastian? Nothing to say to an old friend?" she asked and tossed the bloodied cloth to the floor.

Finally he spoke, though his mouth still felt filled with cotton from being gagged for so long. "You are no friend of mine, Flora Harimann."

"Oh," she said and dug her fingers into his hair, "you hurt my feelings." Her hands traveled down his face, and she ran her fingers over his lips. "It doesn't have to be this way, you know." Flora stood on her toes, her mouth barely an inch from his, and said, "We could rule Starkhaven together."

"What demon has possessed you this time, Flora?" he asked.

The seductive mask of her face instantly transformed into a bitter rage. "No demon, Sebastian," she said. "You have no idea what I've been through! What my mother did in Kirkwall? Our family was ruined!" She stepped back from him and Sebastian watched as she struggled to regain control of herself. The smile on her face was all pretense as she said, "I came here, to Starkhaven, and my uncle took me in. Wasn't I surprised to find out that he and his friends were conspiring against Goren?" Flora pressed close to him again and said, "And that they'd arranged a meeting with the infamous Sebastian Vael."

"What game are you playing?" Sebastian asked derisively.

"Game?" she repeated. "It's no game, Sebastian. I intend to be Princess of Starkhaven." Her fingers returned to his face and she caressed his cheek. "And I would rather you be my Prince."

Understanding dawned in his mind then. He said, "The price for my freedom, then?" he asked.

"Goren is a fool and a despot. He deserves to die," she said.

"That may be true," said Sebastian, "but my answer is no."

"Surely your little conspiracy intended to do no less!" she exclaimed.

"I will not explain myself nor answer to _you_ Flora. My answer is no," he repeated.

"Then you will die," she softly said.

"My faith is in the Maker," he said. "I do not fear death." But even as he said it, his thoughts returned to Bethany. He did not want to leave her.

"Your face betrays you, Sebastian," she said with a wicked smile. "You do not wish to die."

"I do not wish it," he replied, "but I do not fear it."

"Last chance, Sebastian," she said, caressing his face with trembling fingers. "I will free you from these chains, and when Goren returns he will suffer the fate intended for you."

"No," was all he said, and he turned his eyes away from her and would not look at her again.

Her fingers stilled. "You are a fool, just like your cousin," she said heatedly. When she received no response she turned on her heel and walked swiftly to the door. "Goodbye, Sebastian." And with those words she left.

Sebastian wondered what Goren would think when he returned and saw the bloody strip of cloth lying on the floor? Not that it did him any good, for who would hear him if he called out for help?

Sebastian began to pray.

* * *

Hawke stood with her ear pressed to the cool metal of the door. There was no lock, no trip, no nothing, and now she heard no sound. She pushed away and shook her head.

"Fenris?" she said in question.

Fenris' markings began to glow as he pressed his fist against the door. He too shook his head when he could not phase through. "It must be enchanted," he said.

"Bethany," Hawke said with a sigh.

Her sister placed the flat of her palm against the door and closed her eyes in concentration. "There are enchantments," she said. "They feel protective, against magic especially."

"Great," Isabela said. "What are we supposed to do now, just wait here in case the door happens to open?"

As if on cue, metallic clicking began to sound from the door. Hawke grabbed Fenris by the wrist but waved everyone else away. "Out of sight," she hissed. She and Fenris positioned themselves against the wall. She hoped they would be behind the door if it opened, but readied herself in case the opposite were true.

"Whatever happens, don't let it close," she whispered to Fenris, who only nodded once in reply.

The door began to inch open and Hawke felt a wash of relief that it was moving toward them. There was a clanking of chains and then Sebastian's voice. "She will betray you," he said calmly.

High-pitched laughter echoed into the caverns, followed by another voice. "Not your concern, cousin."

It was Goren, with Sebastian, and Hawke's heart filled with relief that her friend was yet alive.

Hawke unsheathed her daggers and nodded to Fenris, and then everything seemed to happen at once.

A chained Sebastian was pushed through the doorway, his body slamming the door fully open. As Sebastian tumbled down the stone stairway, Fenris grabbed the edge of the door with both hands and held fast. Hawke sidestepped away with only inches to spare, before pushing off into a forward flip that landed her directly behind Goren Vael. While all of this was happening she heard Bethany scream, "Sebastian!" and there was a flurry of movement from below.

Goren only had time to shout, "Guards!" before Hawke's blade was at his throat. The next thing she knew, Isabela and Pardus were flanking her and two Palace Guards rushed into the room.

One of them was Donnic. Maker bless him, he took one look at the situation and within seconds had the door shut and barred behind him, and the other guard held at sword point.

"Well, that was too easy," said Isabela.

"It's not over yet," said Hawke. She turned her head to tell Fenris to jam the door, but he was already doing it. Instead she said to Goren, "The keys."

"As if…" but he got no farther as Hawke's blade pushed into his throat, every so slightly.

"Wrong answer," she said. "Where are the keys to Sebastian's chains?" she said, enunciating each word carefully.

Goren only grunted.

She made eye contact with Isabela who nodded and, grabbing Pardus, slipped back down into the chamber below.

Hawke found she had nothing more to say to this man. She felt Fenris' solid presence behind her as she kept her blade firmly pressed to Goren's throat. She could only wait now - this was Sebastian's little party, after all. Donnic wisely remained silent. The other Palace Guard stood still, his eyes darting between each of them, seeming unsure what he should do.

Goren broke the silence. "Who do you think you are?" he said in a raspy voice.

For some reason Hawke found this highly amusing, and she laughed in her lilting way, but did not answer him. Let the little toad squirm, she thought.

Ironically he began to do just that. "You won't kill me," he croaked as Hawke tightened her grip on him.

Fenris stepped into Goren's line of sight then, his markings glowing and his expression fierce.

"What… what is that?" Goren squeaked in some alarm and his struggles ceased.

Fenris growled.

"Shhh," Hawke whispered. "You might set him off." The rank smell of the man was beginning to make her nauseous and she wished the others would hurry. She glanced down and could see flakes of white… _something_ clinging to his greasy, slicked-back hair. Yuck.

* * *

Bethany watched in horror as Sebastian fell head over heels down the hard stone steps. She screamed his name and without thinking a spell flew from her hands and enveloped him in its healing aura. She watched as Varric, in a move more dexterous than she thought possible from a dwarf, threw himself at Sebastian and caught him in a roll that cushioned the worst of his fall. She rushed over to them.

"Sebastian!" Bethany exclaimed as she took his face in her hands. His eyes were closed and he looked much too pale. More healing light flew from her hands as she took stock of his condition. Both his feet and hands were cuffed and wrapped in heavy chains, but she could see no apparent injuries. Just as she exhausted the last bit of her mana, his eyelids began to flutter.

Varric groaned and for a second Bethany panicked that she could not help him if he were injured. "Varric?" she called to him.

"Don't worry, Sunshine," he said groggily. "I'll survive. Maybe."

Isabela and Pardus came rushing down the stairs, and Bethany turned her attention back to Sebastian. "Sebastian… love," she said as she caressed his face.

"Bethany," he breathed and then broke off in a fit of coughing.

Soon they were all gathered around Sebastian where he lay prone on the floor.

"The little toad is mum about the keys," said Isabela. "Let's have a go at these locks." She moved to Sebastian's feet and pulled out her tools.

"Bethany," Sebastian said again.

"I'm here," she said and leaned down to press a soft kiss to his lips. "You're going to be fine."

There was a sharp click followed by Isabela's delighted laugh. "One down!' she said. It wasn't long before she had the chains removed from his feet and said, "Can you turn him a bit so I can get at his hands?"

Pardus helped Bethany roll Sebastian over onto his side, and she cradled his head in her lap as they went to work on the chains at his wrists. "Are you in pain?" she asked.

"Be… fine…" he said, but it was clear he was in some discomfort by the grimace on his face.

There was a loud snap. "Bugger!" Isabela said. "That was my favorite hook pick!"

"No worries, love," said Pardus handing her one of his.

Bethany could feel her strength returning, but thought it best to wait until Sebastian was free before healing him again. It seemed to take forever but finally there was a satisfying snick as the first wrist cuff opened. She glanced over at Varric who was sitting nearby rubbing at his head. "You need a potion," she said to him.

"We're all out," said Varric. "Anyway, it's just a little bump on the old noggin'."

_Leave it to Varric to make light of his injury_, thought Bethany. She was going to have to be very careful how she dispensed the healing, because she had no idea what else they would face this day. There was a second _snick_ and soon they had him free of the cursed chains. She helped Sebastian into a sitting position and he leaned heavily against her.

"Thank you all," he said, but he was looking only at her with the piercing blue of his gaze.

Bethany found she could not speak; the relief that now washed over her robbed her of words. She kissed him again, but no longer in comfort and his immediate response had her yearning that this reunion could have been private. They were not, however, yet safe and she pulled away from him and asked, "Can you stand?" And he nodded.

Once again, Pardus helped her, this time getting Sebastian to his feet. He was wobbly to be sure, but could at least hold his own weight.

"Varric, come here," said Bethany.

"What do you need, Sunshine?" he asked as he ambled over to her, one hand still pressed to his head.

Before he had a chance to protest, she slipped her hand under his and used some of her precious mana for a healing spell directed at the large lump forming on his skull.

Immediately Varric's eyes cleared and he winked at her.

"All right people," said Isabela. "Let's get this show on the road."

And with Sebastian supported between herself and Pardus, they made their way up the stairs.

**FROM THE JOURNAL OF VARRIC TETHRAS**

I'm thinking of writing this particular story up to publish. I believe it would be very popular in Starkhaven, and I could certainly use the coin. But, I thought I would practice here in my journal first; a trial run of sorts.

Unfortunately somewhere in the middle of the story my head got into a fight with a very hard stone floor and everything before that is a bit fuzzy, but no worries – I'll get those details from Hawke soon enough.

I'll begin where my recollections are clear, thanks to a well-placed healing spell from Sunshine.

I didn't know what to expect when we finally got out of those caverns and into what I assumed to be the palace, but the scene didn't disappoint me at all. Picture this: Hawke has this round, greasy little man in a headlock, her dagger at his throat. Standing in front of them is the elf, all glowy blue and his expression feral. I was surprised that Goren Vael (the greasy little man) still had possession of his organs. To complete the scene is our favorite Palace Guard, Donnic (or Donte as he is called in that particular uniform) who's got his sword pointed at some other guard I hadn't seen before. I never got his name, sorry.

I can't bring myself to call Sebastian _Prince Randy-pants_ right now, because the poor guy looked like he'd been through a lot. He was barely able to stand, and wouldn't have been on his feet at all if it weren't for Sunshine and Pardus holding him up. Hmm, I need to come up with a better name for Rivaini's boyfriend, because it looks like he's become part of the family at this point. He reminds me of those big jungle cats I've read about, like they have in Seheron. He's big and lean and muscled – his hair as dark as midnight and his eyes even darker, if possible. The man moves with an animal grace, almost like the elf, but more sinuous. What do they call those big cats? I can't just call him Catman… or can I?

Anyway, here's where all the talking starts.

Hawke said, "Good to see you, Sebastian."

To which Sebastian replied, "Always a pleasure, Hawke." His voice was pretty weak but he managed to sound all gentleman-like anyway.

Suddenly Goren started choking. "Hawke?" he said, or tried to say. It sort of came out garbled seeing Hawke still had her dagger to his throat.

Hawke ignored him and said, "Someone else take this blighter, I can't stand the smell of him."

So the Catman switched places with Hawke, and I think that's the point when I really did begin to trust him as one of us, because he seemed to be taking genuine pleasure in holding the tip of his pointy blade to the little man's throat. You can't fake an expression like that.

It was just about then that Sunshine threw some more magic light at Sebastian, and suddenly he looked quite a lot better and didn't need anybody to hold him up anymore.

Goren really was in full panic mode now, because I guess he'd heard of Hawke being the Champion of Kirkwall and how she fought all those Templars, including crazy-ass Meredith.

Sebastian walked up to Goren and looked down on him, and the expression on Prince Randy-pants' face (Hey, what do you want from me? He didn't look like he was about to keel over anymore) was nothing but _contempt_. I'm not shitting you, you'd think he was looking at a pile of nug shit or something. Hehe – pretty good, I used shit twice in one sentence.

Sebastian said, "You have a choice before you Goren." And he stood there looking tall and princely, despite his tattered clothes and messed up hair. I've only seen his hair that messed up once before, and it was after he and Sunshine came sneaking out of the pantry back when we were at the lodge.

"W-what's that?" Goren asked, and he looked like he might piss himself any minute. Come to think of it, maybe he already had and that's why he smelled so bad.

"You will abdicate the Throne of Starkhaven and _publicly_ reinstate me as the rightful ruler," he said.

This brought a snarl to Goren's face and he asked, "And if I don't?"

Sebastian stepped right up to Goren and said, in this soft voice that was much more scary than that highfalutin tone in his voice before. "Will you not?"

Goren's eyes went a little wild just then, and his gaze kept darting between Sebastian and Hawke and the elf. If you want the truth, I think he was most afraid of Fenris, but who wouldn't be?

It was right about then that someone started banging on the door, shouting "Your Highness! Your Highness!"

"Choose now," Sebastian said to Goren, very, very softly.

No one spoke and the guards kept banging on the door. Finally Goren growled, "I will," but I can tell you he looked none to happy about it.

I didn't trust the little creep, but Sebastian motioned to the Catman, who then stepped away from soon to be ex-prince Goren Vael, henceforth known as Shorty (yeah, yeah). Shorty took the opportunity to scramble farther away from the elf.

Sebastian then turned to Donnic and said, "Open the door."

A bunch of guards piled in and I thought it might be a fight, so I readied Bianca. Right then Donnic stepped toward them and said, his voice filled with authority, "The rightful heir to the throne has returned!" and then he turned and dropped to one knee before Sebastian and offered his sword. "Command me Sire," he said.

Donnic is just full of surprises these days. I guess he must have earned a lot of respect during his time with the Palace Guards, or maybe he'd been sowing some seeds of dissent himself. Who knows? But, as one, the other guards lowered their swords.

Sebastian accepted the blade and as he handed it back to Donnic said, "Keep your sword and use it in service to Starkhaven."

An older guard stepped forward then and removed his helm. He had that grizzled look of long years of service. He also went down on one knee and offered his sword to Sebastian, saying, "I served your father for many years, and I am proud to offer my sword to his son."

After that, it was kind of weird watching all the other guards do the same thing. I've gotten used to Sebastian being this fussy guy who hangs out with us, and who's pretty good with a long bow and terrible at Wicked Grace. Now here he is ruler of a kingdom and acting every inch the part.

I really did expect Shorty to try and pull something, or weasel out of his promise to Sebastian, but he didn't. I think maybe it had something to do with the fact that Hawke and Fenris were never out of his sight over the next few days; they were like his personal jailers or something. Or maybe it was because Isabela repeatedly told stories about all the hearts and livers and kidneys Fenris had ripped out over the years, it's hard to say. Shorty certainly had the fear of elf in him.

So maybe it's something of an anticlimax to tell you that over those next few days Sebastian set about taking back control of his kingdom. Or princedom. Whatever. There were a few small rebellions among the varying soldier types in the city, but they were no problem because Starkhaven as a whole was glad to have a "True Vael" returning to the throne. I think the final straw was when First Enchanter Bergrand came out in support of Sebastian. After that there were parties everywhere, and I should know because I attended several, hehe.

There are still a couple of unresolved wrinkles to this story, however. Counselor Jergan remains nowhere to be found, and from what I'd heard of him, he is a lot more dangerous than Shorty. Flora Harimann is missing, too. When Sebastian sent guards to her uncle's house to arrest her, she was already gone.

The best part of this whole thing? Watching our Sunshine really was like watching the warming sun return after months of cold, rainy winter. She was so happy to have Sebastian back that she radiated, just like the sun. And soon, Our Lady Sunshine will be Princess Bethany Vael of Starkhaven.

Poor Aveline missed out on the whole thing, waiting for Donnic at the Inn, and she was pretty pissed off until Sebastian cheered her up with a job offer. That's right, Guard Captain of the City. And Donnic? He's now Commander of the Palace Guard. In my opinion he's more than earned it. Of course, none of it will be official until tomorrow when the whole ceremony thing takes place: The abdication of one prince and the coronation of another.

Should be quite the spectacle…


	38. Chapter 37

"First Enchanter Bergrand," said Sebastian. "May I present to you my fiancé, Bethany Hawke and her sister, Mari Hawke."

The First Enchanter was a tall man, though now bent with age, with a mop of gray hair that curled around his rather large ears. His watery blue eyes regarded them thoughtfully.

"Your fiancé is a mage?" Bergrand asked after the introductions were complete.

"Yes, First Enchanter," said Bethany as she stepped forward. "I now present myself to the Circle."

"This is quite unusual," he said in his withered voice. "I admit I do not know the protocol for such a thing."

"For the time being," said Sebastian, "Bethany will take her place here in the Circle of Magi."

"But if she is to be Princess of Starkhaven…" Bergrand began.

"I have arranged a meeting with the Grand Cleric, after my coronation tomorrow," said Sebastian. "I am sure we shall work out arrangements to everyone's satisfaction at that time."

Bergrand bowed to Sebastian before turning to Bethany. "Have you passed your Harrowing, my dear?"

"Yes, First Enchanter," she replied. "I was at the Circle in Kirkwall, before it fell."

"Kirkwall was it?" he said in some surprise. "And you survived?"

"As you see," said Bethany, attempting to suppress a smile.

"I'm afraid the Circle here is quite small," said Bergrand. "But we will find room for you, until such time as you take your place at Prince Vael's side."

"Thank you, First Enchanter," said Bethany with a slight nod of her head.

"I would consider it a personal favor, Bergrand," said Sebastian, "If you would allow Mari Hawke to have free access to the Circle while Bethany is with you."

"The Templar order in Starkhaven may be small, but you best check with Knight Captain Carroll before I grant your request," replied Bergrand.

"I have already done so," said Sebastian. "She has agreed, albeit reluctantly."

"Very well," said Bergrand and turned to Hawke. "I ask only that you keep your comings and goings to a minimum Serah Hawke."

Hawke bowed slightly. "Of course, First Enchanter," she said.

Bethany asked, "First Enchanter, is there a healer available?"

"We have several fine healers in the Circle," said Bergrand, and his brow creased as he asked, "Are you ill Enchanter Bethany?"

"I am well," she said, "I ask for my sister."

Bergrand turned back to Hawke and studied her intently. "I see," he said.

Sebastian said, "I will take my leave," and bowed to Bergrand. He then drew Bethany aside and they spoke quietly together for several minutes.

Hawke asked Bergrand, "Would it be better if I returned at another time?"

"You are pregnant," he said without preamble.

Hawke smiled. "Yes, I am."

"How far along?" he asked.

"My best guess is nearing four months," she replied.

"Enchanter Ethelyn has some experience in these matters," he told her.

_These matters?_ Hawke had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. "Thank you," she finally managed.

Once Bethany rejoined them, Bergrand said, "Follow me."

Suddenly Hawke felt nervous. _Here we go_, she thought.

* * *

"Hawke!" said Merrill as Hawke wearily returned home to their borrowed house. "There you are!"

"Is everything all right?" asked Hawke. She hoped so, because she was really very tired, and needed to find Fenris. They had a lot to discuss.

"Yes," said Merrill happily. "I have news."

"Tell me it's good news," said Hawke as she moved into the room and dropped down onto the sofa.

"Oh it is!" said Merrill. "The best kind of news." She came over and sat next to Hawke. "I'm going to _Arlathvhen_!"

"Is that in the Free Marches?" asked Hawke, rubbing at her forehead where a headache was building in strength.

Merrill laughed. "Oh no, Hawke! I've known you for so long, I sometimes forget you're not _elvhen_."

"Thank you?" asked Hawke.

"You're so welcome," Merrill said and smiled at her cheerfully. "_Arlathvhen_ is a gathering of all the _elvhen_ clans and is only held once every ten years. It's never in the same place."

"Merrill, will your clan be there?" asked Hawke. She remembered Merrill's clan had put a death sentence on her head after Keeper Marethari was killed.

"I know what you're thinking, Hawke," she said. "I don't know if my clan will be there, but it doesn't matter. There are fifteen of us going. All of us elves who are Dalish, and who have lost their clans, or been exiled. We all want a different life than the alienage."

"Of course you do," said Hawke, and placed a hand her friend's shoulder.

Merrill blushed. "Yes," she agreed softly. "I miss the creaking of the aravels in the breeze, and the way the halla smell after a spring rain. I want to go back."

"And despite what happened with Keeper Marethari…" Hawke began.

Merrill sat up straighter. "It's a risk, I know," she said with determination. "But I haven't used blood magic since she… since I…" Tears were forming in her eyes.

Hawke took her hand. "I know, and I'm proud of you."

"I want to make amends," she said. "I want to use my skills and my knowledge to help my people."

Hawke nodded slowly. "When will you leave?"

Merrill looked down at their joined hands. "I'm leaving now," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Now?" Hawke exclaimed. "But what about the others? Isabela…"

"I've said my goodbyes, Hawke," she said. "I saved you for last."

Hawke felt tears begin to sting her own eyes. "I'll miss you, Merrill."

"Hawke," Merrill said, "I don't know what would have happened to me without you."

Hawke did her best to find a smile. "You're going to be fine."

Merrill nodded, swallowing back her tears. "I will." She stood suddenly. "I have to go… I'll write when I can…"

Hawke stood and hugged Merrill to her. "_Dareth shiral_, Merrill."

"_Dareth shiral, lethallan_," Merrill said, and squeezed her tightly before pulling away and moving quickly to the door. She stopped with her hand on the knob and looked back at Hawke with a sad smile, before opening it and slipping out into the night.

* * *

As soon as Hawke entered the bedroom, Fenris rose from where he'd sat reading to help her off with her armor.

"Did you see the armorer?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, and smiled as she remembered the look on the man's face when she'd make her request. "He told me a lady in my condition should not be fighting."

"Hmph," Fenris grunted as he helped her off with her boots. "You would be more foolish to find yourself unprepared, the way you attract trouble."

"My thoughts exactly," she said with a sigh and wiggled her toes. "We went to the Circle afterwards."

"And Bethany, how is she?" he asked.

"She'll be fine. It's only for a few weeks." The last of her leathers off, Hawke sat on the bed and held out her hand to him. "I saw Enchanter Ethelyn today," she told him.

Fenris took her hand and sat next to her. "A healer?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied. "Before she came to the Circle, she was the healer of her village. She's delivered lots of babies."

"And what did she say?"

"She told me it's very likely I'm carrying twins," said Hawke.

Fenris placed a hand over her abdomen. "Did you ask her about…?"

Hawke nodded. "I told her about the demon. What it said."

"And what was her response?" he asked calmly, but Hawke could see a nerve jump in his jaw.

"She wants to do more research, enlist the help of the First Enchanter," Hawke said.

Fenris frowned. "What else?"

"They'll want to see you."

"Inspect my markings, you mean," he corrected her.

"I'm sorry, Fenris," she said.

"It must be done, of course," he said. "Tell me the rest."

"How did you…?"

Fenris interrupted her. "It is all over your face."

"An open book, am I?" she asked, and her smile was rueful.

He lifted a hand to her cheek. "Tell me," he said.

Hawke sighed. "Ethelyn said that she knew nothing that would support the idea of the lyrium in your markings harming the children," she told him. "But that it was possible…" Hawke hesitated.

"What is possible?" he asked with some concern.

She watched him carefully, unsure of how he would react to this next little piece of information. "Given that there is magic in both your family and mine, if anything, your markings could increase the chance our babies will be mages." It was a relief to finally have it out.

Fenris didn't respond at first, and it made Hawke nervous that his face was an expressionless mask. Of course she understood the challenges they would face if their children were born with magic, but it had always been a part of her life. Her father and her sister were two of the finest people she had ever known, and although she couldn't be sure, she thought it might be in part _because_ of they _were_ mages.

When Fenris spoke, his voice was a low rumble and there was a sheen in his eyes that took her by surprise. "She believes… she thinks they will live?"

And then Hawke understood him. Understood just how far he had come in dealing with his past and the horrors inflicted upon him by mages and magic. She placed a hand over his where it still rested on her stomach. "Yes," she told him. "I feel the life within me, Fenris."

"Then that is all that matters," he said.

Hawke wrapped her arms around him, and felt the last of the tension ease from her body as he returned the embrace.

_Together we are stronger than one,_ she thought.

* * *

The ceremony in which Goren Vael would abdicate his throne in favor of his cousin Sebastian was to be held in the Palace Courtyard. It was at least three times the size of the Gallows Courtyard in Kirkwall, and at this early hour was already filled to capacity.

Nobles clothed in their bright finery sat on makeshift benches in front of a raised platform. Behind the nobility stood row after row citizens. The people of Starkhaven had all come to see their new Prince crowned. The crowd overflowed out past the gates and into the wide, paved street that led to the palace.

Hawke looked down on this scene from a third floor balcony where she waited with Bethany and Fenris. Sebastian was next door with Grand Cleric Ormanda , First Enchanter Bergrand and Goren Vael. Of course there was also a contingent of both Palace and City guard, which included Aveline and Donnic. Hawke had never been so glad to be rid of someone as when she'd turned that little toad of a Vael over to her friends.

She scanned the crowd looking for Varric, Isabela and Pardus, who were supposed to be seated among the nobles, but she could not find them. That set a few alarm bells off in her head, but for now there was nothing she could do. The stage was set and the proverbial curtain would soon rise.

Fenris came up behind her and looked out over the crowd, his lips curved in a wry smile. He was dressed in the simple but fine leathers he'd been wearing since they left the lodge, his black cape carelessly draped over his shoulder. Hawke didn't think she'd ever seen a more handsome sight in all her days.

"And what is it you find so amusing?" asked Hawke as she snaked her arm around him.

He looked down at her fondly. "I am enjoying the irony of being an invited guest rather than a collared slave, at a function such as this."

The picture of a collared Fenris that arose in her mind was too disturbing to dwell on, so she matched his mood and said, "Honored guest, you mean."

His smile grew wider. "That simply increases the irony."

She smiled back at him. "And me, a Ferelden refugee, wearing a gown that I'm sure cost more than our shack in Lothering," she said as she gestured at the dress that draped down her length in elaborate folds of blue and green. "Though I'd rather have worn my armor," she added.

"You are beauty, itself," said Fenris in a low growl.

"Ser, you flatter me," she said in a fair imitation of a blushing maiden. And for some reason, in that moment, she remembered that's how it all began. Her wayward tongue telling him 'that would be a waste of a perfectly handsome elf.' She could not have known that one small flirtation would have led her to this life with him; a life that filled her heart and her soul.

"Sister, it's time!" Bethany's said, interrupting Hawke's reverie.

"Let the coronation begin," she whispered to Fenris as they walked arm in arm to join the others.

* * *

"And so, good people of Starkhaven…" Goren Vael droned on. Hawke had to stifle a yawn – the man would not stop talking. "It is with heavy heart that I abdicate the Throne of Starkhaven to my cousin, Prince Sebastian Vael."

_Thwak_.

_Thwak, thwak, thwak._

_Shit!_ Hawke thought._ I knew I should have worn my armor!_

Goren Vael had suddenly turned into a pincushion. Feathered arrows stuck from his throat and his chest, and he was staggering perilously close to the edge of the platform.

"Get down," Fenris shouted as he pulled her behind the row of chairs where they'd been sitting. Moments later he was a blur of blue-lit lyrium as he raced to pull Sebastian out of harm's way.

Hawke saw her sister, the Grand Cleric and the First Enchanter being herded from the stage by Aveline and Donnic. Goren continued to stagger and gurgle horribly, and Hawke watched as his foot hit the open air and he fell onto several of the open-mouthed nobles sitting in the front row. The screaming started then, and suddenly everyone was moving, pushing – benches toppled and people fell to the ground in their haste to escape the writhing mass of the crowd.

Fenris and Sebastian joined her behind the chairs and she breathed a sigh of relief when she saw they were uninjured.

"We have to get out of here," said Fenris.

Sebastian said, "What of Goren?"

"Sebastian," Fenris said sternly, "Your only task is to stay alive."

Sebastian nodded grimly.

Hawke hated feeling this helpless – she felt as trapped in her gown as she would have in ropes and chains. She began hacking at the skirt of her dress with the knife she always kept strapped to her thigh – her birthday present from Varric so long ago. When Fenris saw what she was doing, he immediately started to help her, and for a moment she felt like laughing. When they'd torn enough of the fabric away that Hawke could move more freely, Fenris scanned the area. Screams were still coming from the crowd, put there had been no more arrows or others signs of attack. The guards were pressing in on the panicked people, trying to bring order to the chaos.

Aveline's head peeked over the edge of the platform behind them. "This way," she said motioning for them to follow her.

Sebastian jumped down first, followed by Hawke and Fenris.

"What happened to your dress?" Aveline asked inanely.

"What happened to Goren Vael?" Hawke hissed as they ran down the narrow isle behind the long platform. A line of guards stood waiting to receive them in the open area between the platform and the palace entrance.

"Someone shot him full of arrows," said Aveline.

"Andraste's flaming ass, Aveline," Hawke said, "I saw that part. The question is who?"

They'd reached the guards and were bustled into the palace.

"I'd also like to know," said Sebastian as he turned to face Aveline, "How this could happen at all?"

Hawke didn't think she'd ever seen Sebastian this angry. His face was a mask of fury, and his fists were clenched at his sides.

Before Aveline could answer, there was a commotion at the door and Hawke distinctly heard Isabela's voice shout, "Out of my way you stinking blighter!"

Sebastian stalked over to where the guards were blocking the entrance of Isabela, Pardus and Varric. "Let them pass," he told the guards and soon they were all gathered together.

Before anyone could say anything else, however, Donnic and another Palace Guard entered, carrying the limp form of Goren Vael.

"Is he…?" Sebastian began.

"Dead," confirmed Donnic.

Sebastian turned to the room at large and demanded, "I want to know who did this."

"As it happens," Varric said, "I can answer that question."

**FROM THE JOURNAL OF VARRIC TETHRAS**

I have to say, when I mentioned to Prince Randy-pants this afternoon that I knew who'd killed his cousin, he looked at me like he thought I'd done the deed. Not that I would've had anything against killing the little toad, mind you – but I'm not one for murder in cold blood, if you know what I mean. But, if he'd ever tried to stick something pointy my way, Bianca and I would have been happy to oblige.

As it was, however, it wasn't me or Rivaini or Pardus. Of course not. None of us use arrows, for one. But perhaps I'm getting ahead of myself, here.

There was a reason that the three of us weren't sitting among the incredibly snobby nobles of Starkhaven. You see, we'd gotten word from the Catman's friends that something sinister was afoot - planned for the abdication/coronation ceremony. Something big. And that _something_ involved a well-known group of assassins from Antiva. So, we decided to investigate.

To make the tale of a long, boring search through the city short, we managed to capture one of the Crows and were busily interrogating him when all hell broke loose in the Palace Courtyard. So, even though we weren't able to stop them from assassinating Goren Vael, we did find out _who_ and _why_.

"It was the Crows," I told Sebastian.

"What?" gasped Hawke, and then she added, "I don't like the Crows," because that's pretty much what she always says whenever they're mentioned.

Sebastian asked, "Who were they working for?" Because even he knows that the Crows only kill on contract. The only people they kill of their own accord are other Crows.

Rivaini piped in then. "It's really pretty funny…" she began, but then Sebastian glared at her and she stopped smiling. "They were fulfilling the contract Jergan took out on Goren months ago."

"So the fact that they assassinated him at the ceremony…" Hawke said.

"Was a matter of convenience," I finished for her.

The Grand Cleric spoke up at that point. "Sebastian," he said, "Starkhaven has no legitimate ruler. We must move forward with the coronation."

Sebastian turned to Donnic. "Have Goren moved to the Chantry," and then he turned to Aveline and said. "I want those Crows found."

Those two scurried off to do the Prince's bidding, leaving the rest of us wondering what would happen next. Well, at least I was wondering, anyway.

What happened next was instead of the grand spectacle everyone had been waiting for, Sebastian was crowned Prince of Starkhaven in front of a couple dozen guards, his friends from Kirkwall, the First Enchanter and the Grand Cleric. I guess we'll have to wait for his wedding to Sunshine for a spectacle.

Unfortunately for Aveline, the only Crow that was ever found was the one the three of us captured. We turned him over to her, but it really didn't do much good. Jergan's contract on Goren was carried out, and the Crows had no more business in Starkhaven. I'm sure they left in a hurry.

There is still the unanswered question of Jergan's whereabouts, but my gut tells me that won't be a mystery for long. Word is bound to get out that Sebastian has reclaimed his throne, and from everything I've heard about the guy, I can't imagine he'll let that stand.

Something good did come out of today's events, though. Sebastian told the First Enchanter that Bethany would be moved to the Palace where she could be properly protected. He also convinced Hawke and Fenris to move in as well, to do the proper sort of protecting required, because at this point I don't think his confidence in the either the City or the Palace guards is very strong. Maybe it wasn't fair of him to thrust Aveline and Donnic into those positions so soon. After all, Aveline was a year in Kirkwall before she was appointed Guard Captain, and she's only been here a few months. Donnic had never had any experience commanding anyone before. I guess that's Sebastian's worry though. It sure isn't mine.

A few last things.

Daisy came by to say goodbye a few days ago. That was hard. Despite the blood magic and consorting with demons thing, I've always been so fond of her. I think she's finally got her head on straight though, and I'm happy that she's found something positive she wants to do, but I'm sure going to miss her cute little blush and how much she always loved to hear me tell my stories.

Here's something that surprised even me. I think things are getting pretty serious between Isabela and her Catman. I don't think she's slept with anyone but him since we came to Starkhaven – I'm not shitting you. I never thought that would happen, but then again, what would life be if it didn't contain a few surprises now and then. Boring – that's what it would be. The two of them have been talking about going back to Ostwick soon. I think they'll stick around for the Big Wedding, but after that? I expect they'll catch the next barge up the river.

I think I'll stick around here a while longer, myself. Think about it, how could I miss out on seeing the broody babies born? No way I would let that happen.

* * *

The recently erected building that housed the Starkhaven Circle was nothing like the Gallows in Kirkwall. It sat neatly between the sprawling structure of the Chantry and the offices and barracks of the Templars. Built during the reign of Goren, it mirrored his ostentatious taste. The copper-domed roof reflected the bright autumn sunlight and the many supporting pillars were ornately carved in symbols and flowing patterns of fire, ice, earth, lightening, nature and spirit – the elements of magic. The two pillars that flanked the entrance, however, were carved in sigils – the left pillar for healing magic, the right pillar for force magic. It was quite the sight to behold.

Hawke would be glad to put this particular interview behind them, but she counted her blessings as she walked with Fenris to their destination. One blessing was her new armor, custom made to fit and adjust to her changing form. The armorer, despite his initial protests, and been quite clever in constructing the breastplate, even though at present she simply appeared pleasantly plump more than pregnant. That would change soon enough.

Another blessing was their suite at the palace. It included its own bathing chamber with a tub large enough to fit both her and Fenris comfortably. Lots of blessings there. Hawke had never considered herself someone who put too much emphasis on grandeur or wealth, but she had to admit she'd never slept so well in a bed before, not even back at her estate in Kirkwall.

When they finally walked into the cool entryway of the domed building, First Enchanter Bergrand was there to greet them.

Bergrand had seen Fenris on the day of Sebastian's rushed coronation, and yet after a cursory greeting to Hawke, his eyes were glued to her elf. Finally he turned and they followed him down a short hallway and up the spiral staircase that led to his offices. Enchanter Ethelyn was there waiting for them.

More greetings and introductions followed, and Bergrand looked as if he were about to begin an inquisition. Hawke preempted him before he could proceed.

"First Enchanter, Enchanter Ethelyn," she said, "I would have you remember that Fenris is my husband, and the father of my unborn children." She paused to hold each of their gazes before continuing. "We've come to you for help, to insure the safety of our babies, not as fodder for your academic studies of lyrium."

Fenris didn't react, but Hawke saw the gleam in his eye as she spoke – a gleam that denoted gratitude and pride.

The First Enchanter straightened his bent back and looked down at Hawke with a frown. "I needn't be reminded of common courtesy, Serah Hawke," he said.

"Good to know," replied Hawke. "Then we won't have a problem."

Bergrand turned to Fenris. "Serah Fenris, if you would be so kind," he said and glanced pointedly at Hawke, "to remove only the top portion of your armor."

"Of course," Fenris said in his droll, bored voice. Hawke nearly laughed.

Once Fenris stood before them with his bare chest and arms, Bergrand said, "May I?" and indicated that he wanted to touch Fenris' markings.

Fenris nodded and the First Enchanter chose a spot on his shoulder where several lyrium veins were clustered. Her husband's face remained impassive.

"Does it hurt when I touch them?" asked Bergrand.

Fenris glanced at Hawke as he replied, "It is not comfortable."

"I see," he said and held out his hand to Ethelyn, who passed him a magnifying glass. Bergrand studied the lyrium patterns for several minutes, turning the glass this way that. He lifted his head and looked at Fenris with some intensity before stating, "They cut your flesh. The lyrium is at least a quarter inch below the surface of your skin."

"Yes," Fenris confirmed.

"And you were conscious when this was done to you?"

Fenris kept his face a mask of calm, but his voice dropped to a low rumble as he replied, "For most of it, yes."

Bergrand was suddenly looking at Fenris with a new respect, but he said, "Do you remember the process? Any of the details?"

Fenris looked to Hawke, and she nodded. Although they had spoken of many of the details of his life as a slave, Hawke had never questioned him in this manner. She felt no need to hear the minutia of his torture. To know he had been tortured was enough. But now, details were important, and she would not shy away from them. She told him this with her eyes and saw that he understood her.

Fenris began. "Magister Danarius himself carved the patterns with an enchanted knife. One side of the blade cut, the other healed." Fenris continued to gaze at Hawke as he spoke, as if directing his answers to her instead of the First Enchanter. "He cut small sections at a time, and used a syringe to inject a mixture of refined lyrium dust into the wound. He would then turn the blade and close the cut." He paused before adding bitterly, "It was a fire in my flesh."

"I imagining the burning would have been quite unbearable," said Bergrand.

"No, I doubt that you can imagine," said Fenris glaring at him.

Hawke struggled to retain her own composure as Fenris described the brutality he had endured. She kept her gaze steady on his and took slow, calming breaths.

Bergrand lifted the magnifying glass again and studied the markings on Fenris' back. After a time he said. "It was fortunate lyrium powder was used, as that is its least harmful form," he said. "Though I'm sure the initial effects were quite… horrendous."

"Yes," Fenris agreed, but said nothing else.

"Would you elaborate please?" asked Bergrand.

Fenris stared directly at the First Enchanter. "Other than the pain, the constant burning, it was as if my entire body was held perpetually over a raging fire. It also erased my memories."

"All of them?" asked Bergrand.

"Yes," Fenris said again. "Everything before the ritual."

"Have you regained your memories since?"

"Some," he said. "Pieces."

Hawke remembered the nights she'd spent holding him as the _pieces_ bombarded his mind and the lyrium burned his flesh.

"Long term lyrium use is known to cause memory loss," said Bergrand.

"Not to mention extreme nausea, paranoia and blisters," said Fenris.

"Read Brother Genitivi, have you?" asked Bergrand with a half-smile.

"Yes," drawled Fenris.

"The other physiological symptoms, have you continued to experience those?"

"Over time these things have troubled me less and less," Fenris said, "perhaps because I have had a great deal of help." He looked back to Hawke.

Bergrand motioned for Ethelyn to hand Fenris his armor. "I have done as much research as I could with the limited library we have here," he said. "As Ethelyn told your wife, there is a high probability your children will be born with magic."

Fenris began to dress, and Hawke said, "So you agree, it will not… kill them?"

"If it had been raw lyrium? Perhaps" he replied. "But lyrium dust, though it does have side effects and is extremely addictive, does not kill."

Ethelyn spoke up then. "From the safety of your womb, the babies will grow and develop without a constant influx of lyrium." She smiled at Hawke. "I sincerely believe they will be fine."

Hawke was beginning to feel truly relieved for the first time since the demon had spewed its filthy, twisted lies.

"In point of fact," said Bergrand, "that you have magic in your family, Serah Hawke, may actually protect them from harm. Although if they are born mages, they could be quite powerful." There was a speculative gleam in the First Enchanter's eye Hawke did not quite care for.

She said, "We appreciate all you've done."

Ethelyn said, "For now you should come in to be checked about once per month." She smiled at Hawke, "and expect those babies to begin moving around very soon."

They took their leave of the two mages, but instead of going back to the palace, sat on a low stone bench in the Chantry gardens.

"Thank you," Hawke said simply. "I know that wasn't easy."

Fenris took her hand and smiled. "In truth it was easy. I took my armor off and put it back on." He shrugged.

"You never cease to amaze me," she told him with a smile of her own. "You know what I meant."

"It was necessary," he said, "and it was long ago and those memories no longer plague me." He brushed her hair away from her face. "I have much better ones to replace them."

Hawke was still having difficulty with the images in her head of Fenris under Danarius' knife. This was one instance where having a good imagination was a curse instead of a blessing. Although she could not travel back in time and save him from such cruelty, she vowed again to make sure his future life was filled with as much love and pleasure as was in her power to give him.

What she said was, "Making memories with you is my favorite thing."

Fenris chuckled. "I thought honeymoons were your favorite."

Hawke smiled saucily. "Same thing," she said and shrugged prettily.

As one they rose from the bench and began walking back toward the palace gates. Hawke noticed the stares and whispers of the people they passed, and after a moment Fenris said, "They are wondering what a fine lady like you is doing with an elf."

Hawke laughed. "Fine lady? They would do better to ask where they could find a man as _fine_ as mine."

"And what would you tell them?" Fenris asked, playing along.

"I'd tell them that there is only one, and he is taken."

* * *

Sebastian lifted his head and looked down at his bride-to-be. Her hair was a mess, her robes disheveled and her lips pink and swollen from his kisses. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

They had originally agreed that she would stay in the Circle to avoid this particular circumstance, but it seemed fate, or the Maker, had a wicked sense of humor. Now here they were again, trampling all over the lines of propriety. If nothing else, he was grateful their wedding was only a week away.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" asked Bethany. Her eyes were beginning to refocus again and she was peering up at him quizzically.

"In what way am I looking at you?" he asked, smiling at her.

"If I knew, I wouldn't ask," she replied cheekily.

"I was simply feeling gratitude that our wedding is so soon," he told her.

Bethany sighed. "Not soon enough." She looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. "Which reminds me, I am late for an appointment."

He pulled her back into his embrace. "I will come with you," he said, not wanting to be parted from her.

"Ah but you cannot," she said. "It is a fitting for my wedding dress."

He frowned. "If I cannot be there, you will have Hawke with you, I hope."

Bethany grinned. "Mari is why I'm late."

There was a knock at the door.

Sebastian opened it to find Hawke standing there. "Sorry I'm late," she said.

"Mari!" Bethany said and ran to her sister. "What did the First Enchanter say?"

Hawke pecked Bethany's cheek then told her, "I'll tell you along the way."

The two of them walked away arm and arm, heads together as they shared their sisterly secrets.

Sebastian knew there was a mountain of paperwork waiting on his desk. The demands of Starkhaven were heavy upon him these days, but he felt the need to work off some of his more physical _frustrations_, and grabbed his bow and headed for the practice range.

When he arrived, Fenris was already there, sparring with one of the guards. Sebastian watched their swordplay until Fenris noticed him.

"Sebastian," he said and walked over to join him.

"Fenris," said Sebastian. "I'm glad you're here. I've been meaning to speak with you."

"What can I do for you?" asked Fenris.

"I hope it is what I can do for you," replied Sebastian.

Fenris' eyebrows lifted in question.

"I would offer you and Hawke more permanent quarters in the palace," he said. "That is if you intend to stay in Starkhaven past the wedding."

Fenris looked at him thoughtfully. "With all that has been happening, we have not discussed our plans in any detail," he said.

"Surely you wish for stability until Hawke safely gives birth," said Sebastian. "I would like to offer you that."

Fenris bowed slightly. "Your offer is appreciated. I will discuss it with Hawke."

"Good," Sebastian said, and then added, "Why are you smiling?"

Fenris snorted softly. "I think the bathtub may be the deciding factor."

"The bathtub?" questioned Sebastian.

"Hawke has a fondness for large bathtubs," Fenris said deadpan.

Sebastian quickly brushed aside the images his words brought to mind and changed the subject. "How did your meeting go with the First Enchanter, if I might ask."

"It went well," he replied. "We now only wait."

How like Fenris to give the bare minimum of information, but Sebastian did not pry. Instead he asked, "Care to provide me a moving target?" and he held up his bow.

Fenris laughed, "You will never hit me."

"Ah, but I will improve with the trying," Sebastian said with a chuckle.

Sebastian was unable to hit the elf even once in all the time they practiced, but it was good sport nonetheless.


	39. Chapter 38

It was the evening before the wedding of Sebastian Vael and Bethany Hawke. To celebrate their impending nuptials, the couple hosted a private dinner for their closest friends.

Hawke looked around the table and noticed who was missing - Merrill and... Anders. She'd not yet received the promised letter from the young elf, but she'd heard rumors of Anders having returned to Ferelden. Word was he was being hunted by the Chantry Seekers, yet had somehow managed to secure the protection of King Alastair. Hawke would have loved to write to the king and find out exactly what was happening in her homeland, but she was pretty sure those same Chantry Seekers would be interested in her whereabouts, as well. Her position was precarious enough as she hid in plain sight in Starkhaven.

Sebastian had been kind enough to offer them a more permanent set of quarters in the palace, but she was wary of staying too long in the public eye. Instead, she'd asked if she and Fenris might have use of the hunting lodge for the next few months, and although Bethany did not want to part with them, Sebastian had readily agreed.

Hawke's glance rested on Isabela and held there - her heart filled with that mixture of joy and grief that seemed to be her constant companion in life. Isabela was up to her usual antics prodding at Aveline, her eyes sparkling and a wicked little grin on her face. But Hawke didn't miss the way her fingers were entwined with Pardus', or the gleam in his eye as he laughed at Isabela's bawdy wit. The two rogues would leave tomorrow on a barge headed upriver, as soon as the ceremony was over. Hawke wished she could think of a reason good enough to convince them to stay a while longer.

Varric interrupted the general chatter at the table as he cleared his throat and loudly said, "Guess who was found dead in the Minanter River? In Cumberland, no less."

Everyone turned to look at Varric, but no one spoke.

"What? No guesses?" he asked, clearly enjoying himself.

Hawke found her voice, and said in a warning tone, "Varric..."

"Oh come on Hawke, it's good news," he said.

Sebastian said. "Perhaps it would be best if you simply told us."

"You people are no fun anymore," complained Varric. He sighed heavily and said, "Flora Harimann."

"Flora?" exclaimed Bethany.

"And just how did you obtain this information?" asked Aveline curtly.

"Hmph, it's what I do - you know that Aveline," replied Varric. "She washed ashore. Her throat was slit. End of story."

"You're sure it was Flora?" asked Hawke.

"Well," said Varric with obvious relish, "she'd been making quite a stink, and in Cumberland they don't like stink. Especially the kind where you stand drunken in the public square and curse the name of Vael at the top of your lungs."

"A sad end to a once proud family," said Sebastian, shaking his head.

Hawke thought a subject change was in order, considering that they were supposed to be celebrating. She stood and moved to stand behind Bethany's chair.

"What is it Mari?" Bethany asked, a smile gracing her pretty features.

In answer, Hawke said, "Close your eyes."

Bethany did as Hawke asked, her expression one of gentle anticipation. Hawke looped the fragile gold chain around her sister's neck and hooked the clasp. Bethany's eyes flew open.

"Mother's locket!" she exclaimed as she lifted it from where it rested just below her throat. "Oh Mari! You're the eldest daughter..."

"Shhh, she'd want you to have it," said Hawke.

Bethany beamed and rose from her seat. She hugged Hawke to her tightly. "Thank you," whispered Bethany, her eyes shimmering.

"I love you sister, " Hawke said softly. "Be happy."

Bethany nodded. "I will."

Just as Bethany released her from the embrace, Hawke let out a startled cry.

Fenris was at her side in an instant. "What is it?" he asked, his arm going around her in support.

Her hand flew to her rounded stomach. "I felt them," she said, and her eyes were filled with wonder - this was so much more than the fluttering feeling she'd felt until now. "I felt them kick."

The smile Fenris gave her was filled with a fierce pride. "All is well," he simply said.

The rest of the evening passed pleasantly, if uneventfully. Hawke chose not to dwell on the immanent endings and partings. Instead she allowed herself to think on new beginnings, and to enjoy the pleasure of the company of those whom she loved best.

**FROM THE JOURNAL OF VARRIC TETHRAS**

Sunshine was the most beautiful bride.

After the debacle of the coronation, I admit I was a bit worried that some disaster or other would fall upon us and ruin her day. Instead, the day dawned bright and clear, and there were no demons or darkspawn or dragons to spoil it.

At the altar, Hawke stood with her sister and Fenris stood with Sebastian. I sat watching the spectacle from my excellent seat in the front row of pews at the Chantry. I couldn't help but think what an odd little family they made. There before me were all that was left of the Hawke and the Vael families (plus a random elf, hehe).

The ceremony was boring as ceremonies usually are, so I admit I let my eyes drift and my mind wander while the Grand Cleric droned on and on. To my left sat Rivaini and her Catman. It's the first time I've ever seen her dressed in something that didn't scream _I want to get laid_, but even so her neckline plunged pretty low. Hehe. Still, she swaggered around in that gown and captured the attention of quite a few pretentious Starkhaven nobles… and their wives. If it weren't for the Catman glued to her side the whole time, I imagine the situation might have gotten out of hand.

To my right sat Aveline and Donnic, excused from duty for the day by Prince Randy Pants himself. Those two have had their hands full ever since Goren was assassinated, trying to organize and strengthen the Palace and City Guards. Even as invited guests to a wedding they both were fully armored, their weapons at the ready.

There's still been no sign of Jergan, and personally I wonder if he will even come back at this point. Still, the Prince and Princess would do well to get busy making little Vaels so that there will an heir to the throne. Like I said, with Goren dead, Sebastian is the last of his line, which is probably why he attended his own wedding dressed in his refurbished shiny, white armor. I have to admit he was the perfect compliment to the ethereal beauty of Sunshine in her sparkling satin wedding gown.

I think my favorite part of the whole day was when Sebastian set a delicate silver circlet on Sunshine's brow and proclaimed her Princess of Starkhaven. The previously somber wedding crowd suddenly erupted into a cheering mass of happy people, and there stood Sunshine radiating her beauty upon all of us.

When I think back to that day I first met the Hawke sisters, dragging their puny asses through Hightown after the botched meeting with Bartrand, I can only shake my head. I look at them today and consider all they've accomplished; well you won't blame me that I sort of got choked up there for a minute. All in all, it was one of those rarely perfect days everyone dreams of for their wedding.

Those of us who hadn't been recently married came back to the inn to share a few pints before the sad partings of this evening began. As I write, Hawke and Rivaini are holed up in a room down the hall, saying their goodbyes, while the elf and the Catman are still down in the bar playing cards. One by one, all of us who met so long ago in Kirkwall are slipping away from each other. Or more accurately, it's Hawke we are leaving – I mean, she's the one who held us together. Like I said, I'll be sticking around for a few more months, but it will be my turn soon enough. That's going to be one of the saddest days of my life, I can already feel it.

* * *

The door shut behind Hawke with a soft click. Her heart was heavy as she watched Isabela bustle about the room, changing into what passed for her armor and throwing random items into the large, open trunk that sat by the bed. Perhaps because she'd had so few chances to actually say goodbye to the people she loved most, and maybe because there were even fewer of those that she had any chance of seeing again in this lifetime, Hawke forced a smile onto her face and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Isabela," she said and patted the empty space next to her.

She stopped packing, and after gazing at Hawke for a long moment, sat down next to her. "I don't like this part," Isabela said.

"No, it's not my favorite either," agreed Hawke, "yet here we are."

"You know I have to go," said Isabela. "It's not only that I've been landlocked for so long, or that Starkhaven isn't exactly my kind of town…"

Hawke nodded and took her friend's hand. "Pardus," she said.

Isabela actually blushed, and Hawke considered that was the first time she'd ever see such a thing happen. "You've got it bad," she said with a grin.

'I never would have thought…" Isabela began.

"Happens to the best of us," said Hawke. "I'd follow Fenris into the void if he asked it of me."

"The part that scares me the most isn't that _I'm_ willing, it's that Pardus would do the same for me," Isabela said, and now there were tears shimmering in her eyes.

"Exactly so," said Hawke softly.

"You have…" Isabela said, and then paused to pinch the bridge of her nose to stop her tears, "You have been the best friend I ever could have imagined."

Hawke reached into her pocket and drew out the clean handkerchief she kept there for her own frequent bouts of tears. She gently wiped Isabela's face as she said," We'll always be friends, that will never change."

Isabela laughed, "Why you've put up with me all these years, I'll never know."

"Oh, that's easy," said Hawke with a cheeky grin. "Purely for entertainment value."

Isabela smiled and brushed Hawke's hair back from her brow. "If you ever need anything, sweet thing… anything at all…"

Hawke nodded and pressed the handkerchief to her own eyes. She then patted her growing belly and said, "You'll visit?"

Isabela laid her hand over Hawke's where it rested on her stomach. "Someone will need to teach them how to misbehave," she said and winked.

* * *

Bethany stood with her forehead pressed against the closed door between her dressing room and the bedroom she would now share with Sebastian, her hand resting on the knob. For the life of her she could not understand this sudden attack of nerves. She knew every inch of her new husband's body, as he knew hers, and there was only this one small inconsequential thing…

In this moment, that one thing felt bigger than Sundermount.

She had never experienced anything but pleasure in his arms, and once she'd gotten over her initial shyness she had delighted in their explorations, had reveled in the ecstasy they so easily inspired in each other. Bethany didn't believe she was afraid of a little pain – she probably wouldn't even notice – and she discarded that particular fear as the source of her nerves. She then had to bite down on her lip to keep from laughing at herself. She wouldn't notice? There was no way she wouldn't notice considering… and she blushed at the thought. But she wasn't afraid of him.

Sebastian was going to wonder what was taking her so long, but she didn't want to face him until she'd dealt with these annoying wedding night jitters. If she weren't afraid of him physically, what was she afraid of? She loved him! Loved him more with each day that passed. He was now her husband, bound to her for a lifetime. There was no emotional reason that she could find in her heart that had her palms sweating and her mouth dry.

It was then the reason hit her, and it was so simple and so ridiculous this time a laugh did escape her. She'd hit on it just moments ago – wedding night jitters. Of course she was nervous! She'd just married a Prince – had in one afternoon transformed from an apostate refugee to royalty! All those people today, looking at her as if she were someone special, someone important, while inside she was still the same young girl hiding from Templars, always afraid of her magic, always avoiding attention in every way possible.

Now she had something to live up to, and it had nothing to do with making love with her husband this night. Well, she was a Hawke, wasn't she? Her name may have changed but the blood in her veins ran true, and she would meet this new challenge. That, however, was for later, and she finally felt herself settle. Tonight was for herself and her new husband, and she suddenly felt filled with eager anticipation.

She turned the knob and pushed open the door. Sebastian sat by the fire, clad only in a pair of loose silk pants, seemingly lost in the dance of the flames. His head immediately turned when she entered the room, and in a heartbeat he was on his feet moving toward her with his arms extended. She smiled and walked into his embrace gladly - allowing the familiar scent of him, the feel of his arms around her and the contented sigh in his throat as he gathered her into his arms to soothe away the last of her nerves. This was Sebastian, and with him she was finally safe.

The embrace lasted long moments. There was no longer any hurry, no longer the need for stolen moments. There was no longer any need for _restraint_. Sebastian seemed to feel the same way, because when he pulled back from her and held her at arms length, his eyes traveled the down her body in a long perusal, taking in her own silk clad form with obvious relish.

"You are the most beautiful sight I have ever seen," he told her in a voice as smooth as honey. "I believe I am the luckiest man in all of Thedas."

"My dear husband," she said, "you'll make my head spin with your flattery."

Sebastian lips curved in a sultry smile. "Ah, milady, it is not flattery. Not at all. It is the simple truth." He lifted her hand and the sapphire ring that now graced her finger sparkled in the firelight. "I have waited for this day since first we met."

Bethany remembered those long months in the Gallows, unsure of her future – unsure that this day would ever come, and felt tears of happiness sting her eyes. Her heart was filled with love and gratitude, but her body was reacting to his words and his nearness in the most interesting ways. "Now that this day has come, what shall we do with it?" she asked teasingly.

A fire lit in his eyes at her words, and his hands moved to her back and caressed her through the fine silk. "The possibilities are endless," he said huskily.

Shivers went up her spine, and she lifted her hands to cup the back of his neck. With her lips only a hair's breath from his she whispered, "Show me."

"My pleasure," he said and his lips captured hers in a kiss. He began slowly, softly caressing her mouth with his lips and his tongue – gently urging her lips to part for him.

With a soft moan of pleasure she deepened the kiss and for a while she was lost in the magic they made as their tongues tangled and danced together. Bethany was confused when he pulled back, until she noticed that her gown was now bunched in his hands. With one swift move he pulled it over her head and tossed it onto the floor and she stood naked before him.

"No fair," she said and her hands went to the drawstring of his pants and tugged. She slid them down over his hips and when they fell to the floor, he stepped out of them with an easy grace. "That's better," she added with a smile. Suddenly she was very glad that Mari had egged her on all those months ago, because as she took the length of him in her hand, there was no shyness, no hesitancy, only the hard, silken feel of his skin, and she shuddered in anticipation.

A low moan escaped his throat, and he lifted her into his arms. "Careful love," he said, "your touch is like a flame to dry tinder." Sebastian carried her to the bed and sat on the edge with her still in his lap - the evidence of his desire pressed against her bottom in the most deliciously way. As his mouth reclaimed hers and his hands resumed their explorations, she was lost in a pure rush of sensation. This time she gave herself over to it. There was no longer a need for care, and no worries that things would go too far. When his hand slid between her legs, her release was immediate and overwhelming, and she clung to him while the storm of passion took her. "Sebastian!" she cried.

The world titled and spun, and then she was lying beneath him. When his eyes locked with hers, she said his name again, this time in entreaty. "Sebastian, please." She could wait no longer.

He smiled wickedly and said, "Anything to please you, my love."

Whatever pain she might have felt was lost in pleasure, in a sense of fullness, a wholeness, an ecstasy of loved fulfilled and the fruition of promises kept. Sebastian's deep groan as he pushed through the last barrier between them set her body alight in a new wave of blissful sensation. Wave after wave crashed over her until there were no more thoughts – nothing left except Sebastian, her love, her very life.

* * *

While her sister was enjoying the pleasures of her wedding night, Hawke was busy packing. It amazed her how easily she had accumulated so much stuff. She'd come to Starkhaven with what she could carry on her back, and she was doing her best to sort through her belongings to get rid of the nonessentials.

Fenris came up from behind and wrapped his arms snuggly around her. "Leave that for the morrow," he growled in her ear, which sent shivery thrills down her spine.

Just as she was about to turn to embrace him, her stomach jumped more violently than it ever had before. She grabbed his hands and pressed them to where the babies were apparently engaging in some serious acrobatics.

"Hawke?" he said, and the wonder in his voice made her giggle.

"You can feel them then?" she asked.

"Yes, I…" he hesitated. "They are growing strong," he said hoarsely.

"Very strong," she agreed. After a few minutes the babies settled down again and she turned and wrapped her arms around his neck. "It's the strangest feeling," she said.

"I cannot imagine," he told her. "Does it hurt?"

Hawke smiled at him. "No, not at all." She rubbed her nose against his and said," Perhaps it's time to begin thinking of names."

He considered her for a long moment before asking, "Do you have a preference?"

She laughed. "Actually, I have no idea what to name them." She wrinkled her nose and added. "I don't want to name them after anyone. They deserve their own true names."

Fenris nodded. "You may think this odd…" he began.

"What?" she prompted him.

"It is simply that I cannot imagine giving them names until I meet them," he said seriously.

Hawke titled her head, considering his words. "So we wait?" she asked finally.

"I would do so, yes," he replied.

"Hmm," she murmured. "That does make sense." She gave him her best smile. "We shall wait."

Fenris leaned in and captured her mouth with his. The slow sweep of his tongue ignited a warmth low in her belly and she returned the kiss with increasing passion. Apparently being pregnant did nothing to lessen her desire for him. If anything, she seemed to want him more every day. Perhaps too, it was because he seemed to instinctively know how to please her while still taking care of her. He was gentle yet ardent, careful but his passion was unabated. She sighed happily as his clever hands began to remove her clothing, pausing here and there to set her skin on fire.

"Hawke," he groaned and her delighted laughter filled the room as he lifted her and carried her to the bed.

* * *

**_Several Months Later..._**

Hawke was remembering all the times she'd been seriously injured. A Tal'Vashoth spear to the back, being sucked of her life-force by Danarius, the various times she'd been knifed by the Carta, the Coterie and the Crows – it was a long list.

This hurt so much worse.

She took another deep breath and focused on the strong hands of her husband as another contraction reached its peak.

"You're doing well," said Enchanter Ethelyn. "The first child has almost crowned and you shall be able to push soon."

"How soon?" Hawke asked in a strangled voice. She wanted to push now!

"Hold on, sister," said Bethany as she pressed a cool clothe to Hawke's brow. "I wish I could help you."

Bethany was refraining from using healing magic to ease Hawke's labor pains. It was Hawke's own choice and she knew it was for the best, but she didn't have to like it.

The contractions were coming faster now, and Hawke felt as if she'd barely taken a deep breath before the next one hit her.

Fenris leaned down and growled in her ear, "Be strong, Hawke." She tightened her grip on his hands because this new contraction was so powerful she could not speak.

"Now. Push now," Ethelyn said in her calm, serious voice.

Hawke did push and the relief was palpable. She lost count of how many times Ethelyn instructed her to push and then stop and then push again, until suddenly there was a rush of warmth and she felt as if her insides were spilling out onto the bed from between her legs.

"A girl!" shouted Bethany.

Hawke was panting heavily as she peered down to see Ethelyn lift the girl child and wipe away the blood and fluid from her face. The cord that was still attached her to her mother's womb looked like a twisted red rope. Hawke could see a shock of dark hair on a perfectly formed little head.

Fenris released a choked sob from behind her. "Is she well?" he asked hoarsely.

The enchanter smiled , but before she could say anything the baby opened her mouth as if to cry. What came out, however, was a sweet little chirrup as pretty as a sparrow's morning song.

Despite the pain of a new contraction building, Hawke laughed. "My little bird," she cried.

From where Fenris knelt still clutching her hands, Fenris said, "Her name is Melody," and the emotion in his voice filled Hawke's heart.

"Melody," she whispered, feeling an immediate connection to the name and to her new baby girl, but once again, before she could say anything, another contraction took her.

Ethelyn cut and tied Melody's cord before handing the baby to Bethany, who swaddled her in a soft blanket.

The second delivery did not go well. Their little boy child was breach, doing his best to be born feet first. Ethelyn did her best to reposition him without success, and it was with some trepidation that she said, "I will have to use magic or we could lose the child."

From her aunt's arms, little Melody's sweet song became distressed, as if she sensed her brother's peril.

Hawke looked over her shoulder at Fenris, who nodded and said, "Do it."

It was the oddest sensation as Ethelyn used her magic to turn the baby. Unlike the tingling warmth of a healing spell this magic felt cold and numbing and she watched in near shock as her abdomen began to heave in the most alarming ways. Hawke's breathing became shallow and rapid.

Fenris released her hands and wrapped his arms around her. "_Vir Adahlen" _he whispered in her ear, and Hawke remembered the etching on her ring. _Together we are stronger than one._

Finally Ethelyn released her magic and from between Hawke's legs she said, "He's crowning, get ready to push." It seemed no matter what was going on, the enchanter was able to keep that calm note to her voice, and Hawke was grateful for it.

She was much weaker than when she'd birthed little Melody, and it took everything she had to push her baby into the world. When she finally felt the strange warmth and spilling that she'd experienced with her daughter, she collapsed back into Fenris' arms, sobbing and shaking.

Ethelyn said, "Just one more push, Hawke, for the afterbirth."

Still crying, Hawke gave her last bit of energy to the effort, and then it was done.

Ethelyn repeated the same process with their new son. She wiped him clean with a soft cloth and tied off the cord, but still her son did not cry. Bethany came and sat on the edge of the bed with Melody, and they all watched as Ethelyn pushed a finger into his mouth to clear his airway.

"Well," Ethelyn said with a startled breath, "I've never seen this before."

"What is it?" Fenris demanded.

Ethelyn wrapped the baby boy in a blanket and brought him to Hawke, who (weak as she was) held out her arms for him. She let out a cry of relief when she looked into his beautiful face and saw wide, startling green eyes staring back at her, a somber expression on his tiny little face. Unlike his sister, their son had almost no hair, just little tufts of golden fuzz on his crown.

"He's all right?" asked Hawke, glancing up at the enchanter.

"He seems fine," she replied, "but he does not cry."

Hawke looked down at her son's serious little face and said, "His name is Farrell."

"Farrell," growled Fenris. "Does not that mean _valor_?"

Hawke smiled up at Fenris. "Yes. It's from the old Ferelden dialect, before they were invaded by Orlais."

Bethany handed Melody to Fenris, and she immediately resumed her sweet little singing cries. One small hand waved in the air as if she was trying to reach for her father's nose.

Farrell began to frown.

"Your babies are rather precocious," said Ethelyn.

Hawke gave her a watery smile. "Of course they are."

Hawke was glad to be back in the room that was always kept ready for them at the Palace. Bethany's healing spells had done the trick, and now she was comfortably snuggled in the giant bed with her husband and her babies. She was contentedly nursing Farrell, who was already proving to be the more voracious eater of the two.

Melody was sleeping in her father's arms, and Fenris looked down upon her, his expression one of adoration and wonder.

"Fenris?" Hawke whispered to him.

He looked at her with a soft smile and questioning eyes.

"They're beautiful, aren't they?"

"Yes," he growled. "Like their mother. Beautiful." And he leaned down to place a soft kiss on her mouth.

_**The End**_

* * *

_**Epilogues yet to come...**_


	40. Epilogue 1 of 4

_A/N There are a total of nine epilogues, one for each character that helped shaped the story. Here are the first four :)_

* * *

**EPILOGUE ONE – MERRILL**

Merrill pulled back the heavy hide flap of the aravel and climbed inside. She'd just come from a conclave with the clan – _her clan_ – formed and approved by the Elder Keepers gathered together at the _Arlathvhen _over two years ago. Her new clan, composed of a group of displaced and dislocated city and Dalish elves, banded together when no one else had wanted them. Now they were deep in the wilds near the Antivan border, following the game and the seasons, keeping the old ways of the people that had been held since the beginning of time.

It was a good life.

Tonight her clan had taken the last step and chosen a new Keeper. After so many years, her destined role was now fulfilled. _Keeper Merrill_.

Although, she often wished she had a much fancier name. Perhaps something like Lillabelle or Talisanna. Keeper _Merrill_ just didn't sound very official, did it? Ah well, she would just have to make do. Perhaps it would grow on her in time.

Even though Merrill was beginning to feel as if she had truly left the darkness of her past behind her, there was one part of that past she still missed terribly. The friends she'd made in Kirkwall so long ago. Friends who had not abandoned her despite her blood magic and the disaster she had wrought upon her former clan. In this new life there was no one to call her _Daisy_ or _Kitten_. No Hawke to smile and tell her everything would be all right.

Yet what she and the clan were doing now was a far more purposeful, valid recapturing of their elvhen heritage than her attempted restoration of the aluvian had ever been. Not only was her clan living by the old ways, they were studying the history of the elvhen carefully and thoroughly, trying to bring wisdom and understanding to the plight of their people in Thedas.

Perhaps what helped her to believe she deserved this chance at leading a clan, was that she'd kept her promise to Hawke, and never used blood magic again.

Things were changing in the world – power structures were falling, and with those changes came opportunity. Perhaps the new face of Thedas would see an end to the enslavement and oppression of her people. If so, Merrill wanted to be a part of it.

Still, she missed Hawke terribly, and began to consider when the hunting would be good in the hills and mountains around Starkhaven.

She did not know, however, if Hawke and Fenris were still in that city. With all her heart, she hoped they would be.

More than anything, she wanted to see her friend again.

**EPILOGUE TWO – ISABELA**

Isabela stood at the prow of the ship, the salted wind blowing through her dark hair. It was not her ship, not yet – but considering the way in which she and Pardus were accumulating coin, it soon would be.

She was no fan of war on principle, but it was turning out to be a very profitable situation for a pirate turned merchant. Perhaps war was even necessary considering the tyranny that had been slowly corrupting the Templar Order all over Thedas. Meredith may have been the worst case, but she was certainly not the only Templar who'd been using her power to abuse the mages under her care. Isabela didn't fool herself that she was a particularly good person – or a particularly honorable one – but she did believe in freedom. Until that day Zevran had killed her husband, she'd been little more than chattel herself.

Zevran. She remembered him with great fondness – especially his sexy bits. She wondered where fortune and fate had led him in this new, tumultuous world. There was a time when she'd believed the handsome elf might have captured her heart, but gratitude and sex (although a powerful combination) could not compete with true love. Never had she believed it would happen to her; that there was one man who could fulfill all of her needs and capture her rogue's heart. Even now she was sometimes surprised all over again when she'd meet a handsome man or a beautiful woman and feel nothing more than a passing appreciation.

Well, except for that willowy barmaid in Denerim – which turned out to be a very enjoyable evening that included Pardus.

Really, she blamed the change in herself on Hawke. Her complete and utter devotion to Fenris over the span of many years, and through every kind of hardship had definitely affected Isabela. Watching them together had cracked open her jaded heart and made her long for something more, even before she knew just what that something, or someone, was.

Isabela smiled in remembrance. Hawke and Fenris could always set a room on fire with the passion they shared. A mere glance or the touch of a hand would do the trick, and suddenly everyone would practically swoon. At the time she hadn't realized just how deeply that had moved her.

Yet, it wasn't only Hawke's relationship with Fenris, no. It was also their own friendship. Time and again Hawke had forgiven her and given her second, third and fourth chances when Isabela would find a way to screw up again. She had never believed herself worthy of such loyalty. Had never thought anyone would see past the sass and the sex to the woman she was in her heart.

Hawke had, for reason's still unknown to her, believed Isabela deserved her friendship, and she'd give it freely with an open heart. Not only had Hawke trusted Isabela to keep her secrets – Isabela herself was surprised when she'd kept her mouth shut for all those years.

That was Hawke. A crazy mixture of fierce loyalty, stalwart resolve, incredible bravery and the most true heart she'd ever met. And very, very sexy...

Pardus came up behind her then, interrupting her reverie with an arm thrown around her waist and a squeeze to her breast. No shy wallflower was her man. He was as bawdy and ardent a lover as she could ever have dreamed of.

"How long?" she turned to asked him with her trademark wicked grin.

"My dear, I think you know the answer to that," he teased her.

"Silly goose," she said with a laugh, "I meant how long until we reach port."

"By dawn, I think," he replied, then proceeded to try to slip his hand down her bodice.

She let him, and squirmed about a bit to give him better access.

Even while she enjoyed the oh-so delicious ministrations of her lover, some part of her mind was still thinking of Hawke. She'd promised a visit to meet the little ones - to teach them bad habits like only she could manage. Isabela intended to keep that promise. She nearly laughed as she considered she might be somewhat trustworthy.

Once this ship was hers, she would find Hawke again.

But for now, there was a dark-haired, sexy man just begging for more attention and she – being generous as she was – gave it to him.

**EPILOGUE THREE – AVELINE**

Aveline sat at her desk trying to clear up the most pressing correspondence so that she could join her husband. Donnic was waiting for her in their quarters, finishing up the last of the packing for their impending trip to visit Hawke and her family. Two weeks in the country away from the noise and heat of summer in the city sounded like paradise to her in that moment. These past two years she and Donnic had been all work and no play, attending to the business of Starkhaven. Of all the cities in Thedas, theirs was weathering the storm of upheaval and war better than most.

Aveline knew this was chiefly due to Sebastian's wise leadership. It was also helped by Bethany's involvement in transforming Starkhaven's Circle into a place of training and study for the mages there.

And yet she believed she had played her own role in the city's stability, as well. As she'd done in Kirkwall, she'd eventually earned the respect of the people, who appreciated her efforts in keeping order and dispensing justice fairly.

There was one thing Aveline knew about herself beyond question – she could not be bought. Despite her rough beginnings when Goren had been assassinated under their very noses, Sebastian's confidence in her honesty and loyalty had seen them through.

She'd been working hard these past few months training her First Lieutenant, and felt confident that she would fill the Guard Captain's shoes well while Aveline was away. If everything went according to plan, she hoped to take a longer leave of absence within the next year of two. She could hardly believe it herself, but she and Donnic were considering it might be time to start their own family.

That made her think of Hawke again. Hawke and Fenris both had come to Starkhaven several times in the past two years to help the guard with particularly nasty problems, leaving the twins with Bethany and Sebastian. Having children had not affected their ability to fight the good fight when necessary. In fact, she thought Hawke rather relished the occasional opportunity to do so.

And so, they were to travel to the lodge where Varric was currently visiting, as well. It would be good to see the meddlesome dwarf again. After their extended vacation, they would all return to Starkhaven together because Hawke and her family had good reason to spend some time in the city now. They were all waiting for the impending arrival of an heir to the Vael throne.

Aveline pushed the last of the parchments aside and rose from her desk. Her mind was obviously not on her work, and anyway Lieutenant Terryl could use the practice dealing with the many outrageous requests continually made by the nobles.

Her heart was light as she left the barracks to meet her husband and begin their journey north. She smiled and thought to herself that perhaps happiness wasn't just for fools, after all.

**EPILOGUE FOUR – ANDERS**

Anders was tired. Bone weary. His once handsome face now lost to the ravages of a life on the run. The last time he'd looked in the mirror, it had disturbed him how much he resembled the gaunt specter of the spirit of Justice he'd first met in the Black Marshes so long ago.

Huddled beneath his thin blanket in a room at some nameless inn just outside of Redcliff, he remembered his time at the clinic in Kirkwall's undercity with fondness. Helping the city's poor and downtrodden – using his skills and his power to relieve suffering and restore health to those who otherwise might have died. He also remembered his nights at the Hanged Man - drinking, laughing and playing cards with his friends as some of the best times of his life.

How had it all gone so wrong? He still remembered the hurt look on Hawke's face when she'd refused to help him distract Grand Cleric Elthina, and he'd turned away from her, rejected her. More than anything he wanted to go back to that moment and put his trust in Hawke, as he should have done. She would never have allowed him to carry out his plan, he was sure. She would have helped him to find a better way to end Meredith's reign of terror. In the end, Hawke had rid Kirkwall of the madwoman, but Justice had been fully in control in those days, and he would brook no compromise. At the time he'd been certain that the only course before him was the destruction of the Chantry itself. Now, he had this terrible stain on his soul that could not be erased. There was nothing in all of Thedas that could save him from the consequences of what he had done.

Anders wished Hawke _had_ killed him on that fateful day, because other than the few months he'd spent in Denerim under King Alistair's protection, his life had been nothing but torment.

It was Justice, once again, who had ruined that brief respite. The spirit had turned vengeful every time a Templar crossed his path – had killed several for no other reason than the uniform they wore. Alistair had been forced to banish him from the city.

At least this life of living on the run, with barely enough to eat and rarely the coin for shelter, had quieted the terrible rage of the spirit inside him – the spirit who he had once so admired and called friend. He thought perhaps it was because his own life force was depleted now, his own anger nothing but a dim memory, that there was nothing left for Justice to use as fuel.

Perhaps that was for the best.

When he had first left Kirkwall he had imagined himself leading the mage rebellion now erupting all over Thedas. He'd imagined himself a hero and someone all mages could rally around. Instead he had been nothing more than a sacrifice to a cause that had now moved on without him.

Perhaps it was for the best.

As he lay in his hard, narrow bed thinking and remembering, a sudden image of Hawke came into his mind - an image that included that beautiful smile of hers. He could almost hear her laughter, and it warmed him in a way that only Hawke ever could. Had he been in love with her? He'd thought so once. He'd hated her obvious obsession with that elf. He'd wanted her for himself.

But now he wondered if it had truly been love he felt, or just the desire to possess what he could never have, who he could never himself be. A pure soul. _A true heart._

"Hawke," he whispered as his consciousness began to fade. "I'm sorry," he said.


	41. Epilogue 2 of 4

_**EPILOGUE FIVE – SEBASTIAN**_

Even though appeasing pretentious Starkhaven nobles was just as bad as he'd once thought (and he _had_ actually sent a few of them off to do penance), Sebastian was a happy, contented man. He was also a busy man. There was his duty to Starkhaven, of course, but there were also his many commitments to the Chantry. His faith had only increased over the years, but he was sure that life with his reasonable, moderate wife had tempered his zeal. He always thought of Bethany with so much pride. Not long after they were married, he had taken a page from King Alistair's book and given control of the Chantry to the Princess of Starkhaven. What a difference she had made to the lives of the mages in Circle. She'd also gained the respect of the Templars, because her own years in the Kirkwall's Circle had taught her the importance of Templars being guardians instead of jailers.

In point of fact, the ways in which he was proud of his wife, his Princess, knew no bounds. Within the month she would make him the very happiest of men with the birth of their first child. For reasons only his heart understood, Bethany was more beautiful, more graceful than ever before. And though he believed himself to be a popular ruler, it was his Princess who had captured the hearts of the people.

When the Chantry Seekers had come to Starkhaven looking for The Champion of Kirkwall and her apostate sister, the citizens of Starkhaven had taken to the streets determined to protect their Princess. Fortunately, they had not been an unruly mob, but had instead lined the streets in a show of solidarity and support. Sebastian had given the Seekers audience, and when they'd found Bethany to be not only Princess of Starkhaven, but a full member of the Circle, they'd left peacefully, if somewhat confused by the strange turn of events. He was sure the absolute support of the Grand Cleric and First Enchanter hadn't hurt her case, and hoped that the Divine in Val Royeaux would accept the findings of her Seekers. They had seemed much more interested in finding Hawke than arresting Bethany.

Of course, they'd left without gaining any information on Hawke's whereabouts. Ensconced with Fenris and the children at the hunting lodge deep in the country, so far they had remained undetected and safe. They were cautious when they came to the city, and Sebastian and Bethany refrained from trips to the country to visit them. They all agreed it was not worth the risk for the attention it would bring upon them.

Still, he loved it when the children came to stay at the palace with them. Melody, dark of hair and eye like her mother, with her sweet little voice that made everything she said sound like a song. His niece was curious and precocious and had her mother's smile - a smile that was guaranteed guaranteed to melt even the coldest heart, and to gain forgiveness for her delightfully mischievous ways.

Her brother, Farrell, was nearly the spitting image of his father – well, except for the lack of elven ears and his golden blond hair. Much more serious than his sister, he spoke little, but when he did, even at two years old, he sounded like a miniature adult. He was so intent on every task that he undertook, and so very protective of his wayward sister, Sebastian was completely enamored of the little boy.

Yes, his family continued to grow: A brother and sister in Fenris and Hawke, a niece and a nephew whom he adored, and soon a child of his own to love and to cherish.

Sometimes Sebastian wondered what his life would have been like now if he had never met Hawke, and he thought it likely he would have died that day in the Chantry with Elthina. The gratitude he felt for Hawke - his friend, his sister - had never abated, and until his last breath he would do whatever was in his power to keep her from harm.

Bethany entered his office then and interrupted his musings, the lovely smile on her face reminding him again why Varric called her Sunshine

"The hour is late," she said as she held out a hand to him. "Come to bed, love."

He rose from his chair and took her offered hand before placing a kiss upon her soft lips.

Yes, he thought, he may very well be the luckiest man alive.

**EPILOGUE SIX – BETHANY**

Bethany stood between the ornately carved pillars that flanked the entrance to the Circle's domed building, as she did each and every morning, welcoming the young magelings who arrived for training and study.

The children greeted her cheerfully. They were, for the most part, happy to spend the day among their peers, learning to use their newly awakened gifts. The parents who escorted the younger children bowed to her respectfully, before dropping a kiss or a patting the head of their children, knowing that at the end of the day they young magelings would be returned to their families.

So far, with few exceptions, this new program was working out very well for all involved.

Little Luci Drimbald stopped in front of Bethany, a question in her big blue eyes. Bethany smiled and nodded as the young girl lifted her hand to Bethany's swollen belly and gently rubbed. The baby growing there kicked as if in recognition, and Luci giggled before dropping a curtsy and running off to join her classmates.

It wouldn't be long now – perhaps another month, and she would finally get to hold her child in her arms. Although she didn't know for sure, Bethany suspected she would have a son. And although Sebastian professed no preference, she knew that a male heir would please him.

The only blemish on her life was how little she saw of her sister these days – and of course Fenris and the twins. Just thinking of her niece and nephew returned the smile to her face. Vivacious little Melody and somber, sweet Farrell. She couldn't wait for their visit, now only two weeks away.

There had been many adjustments to her life as Princess, and she doubted she would ever grow accustomed to the deference she was paid by the people within her royal role. Sebastian, however, seemed happy enough with her progress. More than happy, really. Not a day passed that he did not smile at her with pride and confidence as she met each new challenge.

The last of the children straggled in and Bethany turned to follow them. She taught one class herself – the delicate and dangerous subject of demons and the threat they presented to every person born with magic. It was an area of her life where she felt particularly well skilled. Her father's careful instruction when she was but a child had held her in good stead throughout her life. By passing along his teachings, she felt as if some part of him were still with her, and still doing good in the world. Each day they started class with Malcolm's words – words she'd taken so seriously as a child, and whose import had never left her.

_Magic should serve that which is best in me, not that which is most base._

It was a mantra she hoped the children would carry with them, just as she had done.

She would have to temporarily give up teaching soon. Even now the short walk from the palace to the Circle tired her, and by the end of the day her feet hurt and her ankles were swollen. She'd been working diligently on a curriculum for her replacement, however, and was sure that all would be well even without her personal touch.

This morning she entered the classroom with a smile, and the children chimed as one "Good morning Princess Bethany." She bit her lip to keep from laughing, as she remembered how the children in her class were wont to smugly brag to the other students how their teacher was the _Princess_.

She lifted her hand and once again the children spoke in chorus:

"Magic should serve that which is best in me, not that which is most base."

"As much as you all like scary demon stories," she told her students, "today I think we will spend some time talking about just what it is that is best in each of us."

There were a few disappointed groans and Bethany laughed.

A pig-tailed girl of about eleven, who sat in the front row, raised her hand enthusiastically.

"Yes, Nellie?" said Bethany.

"I know what is best in you, Princess Bethany," Nellie said.

"And what is that?" asked Bethany with a smile.

"Your baby!" shouted Nellie.

The classroom was filled with guffaws and giggles, and Bethany happily allowed them their moment of fun. Beside, she thought, Nellie was probably right – her child _was_ what was best in her. As if to emphasize the truth of it, the baby kicked again.

* * *

In the evenings after a formal dinner with her husband, Bethany liked to sit on the balcony outside of her bedroom that overlooked the gardens. Most days she sat here alone, as Sebastian had to return to the business of being Prince, but this day he'd joined her, much to Bethany's pleasure. They were standing close together, his arm around her waist, watching as the birds, bees and butterflies finished their own day's business; the colors of the flowers deep and rich in the soft, golden sunlight. A warming breeze sang through the ornamental trees, creating dancing patterns of shadow on the stone wall that enclosed the garden. It was a beautiful, peaceful scene.

"How are you feeling, my love?" asked Sebastian as he looked down at her fondly.

"I'm feeling very large," she said, laughing as she placed her hands over her stomach.

"You know you are more beautiful than ever," he replied.

"I'm glad you think so. The baby's been very active today," she told him. "Sometimes I can see his little foot sticking out."

"Or it could be an elbow," he suggested with a chuckle.

"Or a knee?" she offered with a teasing grin.

A companionable silence descended for long moments before either spoke again.

Finally Sebastian asked, "How are things at the Circle?"

"Very well," she replied. "The children are wonderful. I almost feel as if I am already a mother, I love them so much."

"I'm glad to know it," he said. "The Seekers seemed surprised that our Circle here is so stable, considering what's happening elsewhere in Thedas."

Bethany frowned. "I wish I could help them all," she said.

"We do not always choose our fate, we only can chose how we meet it," said Sebastian seriously.

Bethany looked up at him. "You sound like Mari," she told him.

Sebastian chuckled again. "Yes, your sister said those words to me once, long ago. I have never forgotten them."

"I miss her," said Bethany. "It's difficult having her so near, but so far away."

"Perhaps a day will come when we can all be together again," he told her as he smoothed her hair away from her eyes.

"Melody and Farrell are growing so quickly, and I'm missing it." She felt tears forming in her eyes at the thought of her niece and nephew.

"Hush," soothed Sebastian. "They will soon come to visit. Mari will be with you when our child is born."

Bethany sighed. "You're right of course." She turned and kissed him. "I remembered when Mari was always crying over every little thing."

Sebastian gathered her into his arms. "Perhaps I can help you to forget your sorrows," he said and returned her kiss.

When he lifted his head, Bethany smiled and lifted a hand to his cheek. "You're such a clever husband," she teased.

"It is my honor to serve you, milady," he said.

Bethany giggled and, arm in arm, they turned and went inside.


	42. Epilogue 3 of 4

**EPILOGUE SEVEN – FENRIS**

"Papa! Papa! Papa!" Melody sang. "Issa bird!"

Fenris looked up from where he sat in the grass with Farrell, reading his son a storybook. His daughter was walking across the lawn with a small brown wren perched on her fingertip.

He smiled at her, no longer surprised by Melody's unusual talent of attracting the wild things of the forest to herself. Yesterday she'd brought him a lop-eared bunny.

"Whas his name?" she asked, the question itself a bit of a song.

"What," corrected Farrell seriously, placing emphasis on the 't' at the end.

Melody laughed at her brother. "What, what, what!" she sang, pronouncing the t's very loudly to satisfy Farrell.

"It is called a wren," Fenris told her.

"Wren, wren, wren!" Melody sang, and the little bird on her finger began to sing along. "Tell you tree time, Papa!" She laughed again and lifted her hand high into the air. The wren took flight and winged its way back to the forest.

"Three times," corrected Farrell seriously.

For reasons unknown to them, Melody loved saying, or rather singing, everything three times. There were a lot of things about his children that neither he nor Hawke yet understood. Melody's lovely voice and her gift with animals and birds; Farrell's ability to speak and comprehend better than many adults he'd met in his life, and the way he was so diligent and focused on even the smallest task. They'd watched carefully for signs of magic in the twins, but so far they'd seen nothing. Yet, they were still very young at barely two years old.

"Papa," Melody said and flopped down into his lap, upsetting the book.

"We are reading," Farrell said, chastising his sister.

Melody reach out to her brother and took his hand in hers, and with a smile exactly like her mother's, began to cheerfully sing, "Farrell, Farrell, Farrell," as she waved their joined hands in the air.

The little boy's usually somber expression could not withstand the delight of his sister, and his face broke into a rare smile.

Fenris dropped a kiss on the top of Melody's head before righting the book and continuing to read the fairy tale to his children, with Melody curled in his lap and Farrell pressed close to his side. He'd read this particular story to them so many times he barely glanced at the words on the page, but Farrell studied them intently, sometimes reaching to trace the letters with a finger, as if trying to make sense of them.

When they were first born, Fenris had worried that he would prove to be inadequate as a father. He'd never been around babies – had no idea how to care for them. He had confessed his fears to Hawke, and had been rather upset when she had burst into laughter.

"Why are you laughing?" he'd asked her. He wasn't sure if he felt angry or hurt by her response.

"You really don't know, do you?" she'd asked in turn, once she had caught her breath.

"No," he'd replied, the word a low rumble in his throat.

"I have been on the receiving end of your care and attention," she said with a smile. "You'll do fine."

And he had. As time had passed, he'd begun to realize the truth in her words, and it confirmed his suspicions that he'd loved Hawke long before he had ever _understood_ his feelings for her. Caring for his children, he felt that same sense of protectiveness – a desire for them to be safe from harm, well and happy.

The twins had taught him many things about himself, but perhaps the most important thing was just how much love he was able to feel - to give and to receive. In truth he had believed Hawke was the only one he could ever open his heart to in such a way, but from the very first his daughter and his son had claimed their own place there, too. They had been as content with him as they had been with their mother - especially little Melody. Whenever she cried or was fussy, Hawke invariably would place Melody in his arms and his infant daughter would immediately settle and begin her sweet singing, waving her arms about even then, trying to grab his nose or a lock of his hair. As the months and years passed, he could no longer imagine a life without them.

He finished the book, and in the blink of an eye had scooped a child under each arm, before he started jogging swiftly toward the house. "Nap time," he said.

The twins squealed with delight (even Farrell, he noticed) as he jostled and jiggled them more than was strictly necessary. Once in their room, Farrell settled down well enough, but Melody slipped out of the bed to hide behind doors and under the beds so often, Fenris began to despair he would ever succeed in getting her to sleep.

"Melody," Hawke's voice from the doorway made the little girl freeze in her tracks, just as she was about to slip behind the wardrobe.

"Mama," Melody said warily as she turned toward her mother, but the smile on her face was a mirror of Hawke's.

"What comes after naptime, Melody?" Hawke asked.

Melody screwed up her little face in exaggerated thought for long moments. Her smile returned and her expression brightened as she sang, "Treats! Treats! Treats!" She ran to her mother and threw her arms around Hawke's knees. "Tell you tree time, Mama!"

"Three times," said Farrell with a sigh from his own little bed.

With the twins finally settled, Hawke quietly shut the door, took Fenris by the hand and led him down the hallway. They usually spent naptime training, but the twinkle in his wife's eye as she glanced back at him made him think she might have something else in mind this day – at least he hoped so, because his body was already stirring in anticipation.

Once the door to their own bedroom was shut firmly behind them, Hawke turned to him and said, "It won't be long now before we have a house full of company." Her eyes were dancing and a wicked little grin curved her lips.

"True," he said simply. Varric was due tomorrow, and Donnic and Aveline would arrive within the next few days.

"I was thinking," she said, and lifted his hand to her breast, "we might take a little nap of our own."

The feel of her under his hand robbed him of words for a moment. Finally, he managed in a low growl, "I am rather… tired." And he yawned.

Hawke lifted her hands and ran her fingers through his hair. "I can help with that." She was sure.

As Fenris began to work at the ties of her blouse, allowing his fingers the pleasure of caressing each inch of soft skin he exposed, he growled to her, "You are always quite helpful."

Hawke leaned in and began to nibble at his earlobe – then pressed soft kisses to the sensitive skin of his throat. Her only reply was, "Hmm."

Obviously they were through talking. Her hands drifted lower and began to work at the drawstring of his pants and he felt the lyrium in his flesh begin to warm.

"Hawke," he said hoarsely.

Her soft, delighted laughter filled the room as she slid the interfering cloth down his hips. His response to her touch had not abated at all in their many years together, and before she could send him over the edge, he lifted her into his arms and sought her mouth with his. Fenris was in no hurry – he wanted to savor each moment, each kiss, each caress. His only thoughts in those moments were of Hawke – of her pleasure, of how much she meant to him, and how perfectly she met him in this place where their love still grew, still flourished.

Fenris moved to the bed and sank down with his Hawke, her long, dark hair flowing over the pillow like waves of chocolate silk - her tourmaline eyes heavy-lidded as she looked up at him, her lips curved in a soft smile. She could not be more beautiful to him.

And as he reached for her, there was not a single trace left of the broken man, or of the bitter, brooding ex-slave. There was only Hawke's fierce warrior – his eyes and his heart filled with love.

* * *

**EPILOGUE EIGHT – HAWKE**

Fenris was sound asleep. Apparently he had required a literal nap after their figurative one. There was still a bit of time before the twins would wake up, so she curled onto her side and enjoyed the sight of her handsome husband sprawled out next to her on the bed.

He was easy in his sleep now, so unlike those difficult days when he'd been plagued by nightmares and always on the verge of wakefulness lest hunters should come for him. Her eyes traced the lyrium patterns on his back – a constant reminder of the life he had escaped. He rarely spoke of his life as a slave anymore, and it had been many years since he'd had even a hint of the panic and confusion that once had been the normal state of his daily life. His markings were a part of him, however, and even the children were beginning to ask questions.

"Why don't I have markings like Papa?" Farrell had recently asked in his grown up little voice – a voice that even now hinted at the low-growling rumble it would someday become.

Fenris had explained that he himself had not been born with his markings, and that some people chose them once they were grown.

"Did it hurchew Papa?" asked Melody in her sing-song voice, carefully tracing a lyrium line on his forearm.

Hawke thought this conversation needed to wait a few more years, and had purposefully dropped a full pot of stew onto the stone floor of the kitchen. Melody had squealed and Farrell looked at her with wide, astonished eyes. As she'd hoped, the questions had been waylaid, and as they cleaned up the mess, Fenris had looked at her with eyes filled with gratitude.

So far there had been no repeat, but she and Fenris had privately begun their own conversation on how the twins should eventually be told of his past.

Fenris stirred in his sleep, a smile curving his lips, which distracted her from her musings. It was too much – he was too tempting lying there so relaxed and beautiful to her, and she reached out a hand to stroke his cheek.

His eyes fluttered open and his smile grew wider as his eyes wandered over her body.

"So it was not a dream after all," he said in his sexy, sleepy voice.

Hawke scooted closer to him and his arms snaked around her.

"No," she replied, "though I don't like to think I missed out on anything."

His hands began to wander and he growled, "I shall show you then."

* * *

Hawke was drying the last of the dishes when she heard a strange sound coming from the other room. She knew Fenris and Melody were outside playing among the evening's fireflies, and last she'd checked Farrell had been sitting in the parlor, looking through a picture book.

Perhaps from years of habit, Hawke slid into stealth mode, hugging the shadows as she peered around the corner to see just what Farrell was doing. It sounded like music. There sat her son, in the middle of the floor, the old lute Merrill had once found in the attic held on his lap as he plucked at the strings. That really wasn't odd, because Farrell was two years old and very curious. He wanted to know how everything worked, and unlike most children his age, was willing to pay attention until he learned. But for over two years that lute had sat in the corner collecting dust, forgotten until now.

What _was_ odd was that as Farrell carefully plucked the strings, it didn't sound like the noise a child would make as they "played" an instrument. It sounded like a gentle song, or like the way Melody's voice sounded when she was singing her words to them. It was slow and careful, yes – but it was also quite beautiful.

So that she would not interrupt him, Hawke walked slowly into the room and sat down on the edge of a chair to watch and listen to Farrell's latest efforts at mastering a new skill. It was like his sister with the birds and baby animals – it seemed something natural to him rather than a concentrated effort.

After a time he stopped and looked up at her. "Mama, what is this?" he asked in his careful voice, indicating the instrument on his lap.

"It's called a lute, Farrell," she replied. "You play it very beautifully."

"Can you teach me more?" he asked. The green eyes peering up at her were so like his father's he could melt her heart with one look.

"I'm afraid I don't know how," she told him.

"Does Papa know how?" he asked, looking down at the lute, and rubbing his little fingers along the fine grain of the wood.

"No." She left her seat to join him on the floor. "But you were doing fine," she said in encouragement.

"Sing the song about the lady, Mama," Farrell said as she pushed a lock of golden hair away from his eyes.

Hawke knew the song he meant. It was a lullaby from her childhood called "The Lady of the Green Wood" that she often sang to the twins at bedtime. It was a slow and gentle ballad about the beautiful maiden who put the forest to sleep each night with her beautiful voice and a touch of her hand. As Hawke sang, Farrell plucked at the strings, attempting to match the tones to his mother's voice. They'd gone through the song perhaps five or six times before he began to anticipate her, and not long after he was softly plucking the melody out as she sang.

Not much later, Fenris and Melody entered the room. Her daughter's dark hair still had fireflies clinging to her soft locks, blinking like little stars come down to rest on her head. They stood quietly by the door listening to mother and son sing and play together.

When Hawke sang the last word, Melody ran over to her brother, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek. "Farrell," she breathed happily. "Play again, again, again," she sang.

Fenris looked at Hawke with a lifted brow, his lips quirked into a smile. They had grown accustomed to being astonished by their children. She rose to join her husband as Farrell began to pluck at the lute again, Melody humming along, occasionally singing a word or two.

Hawke stepped into the arm Fenris held out for her and leaned her weight against him. "He taught himself," she whispered.

Fenris didn't reply, only laid a gentle kiss upon her forehead and tightened his arm around her. They stood there together for a long time as their children made music for them. The fireflies in Melody's hair almost seemed to keep the rhythm of the lute. Eventually Farrell stopped and looked down at his fingers, which were red from plucking at the tight strings. Melody grabbed his hand and kissed each fingertip before singing, "All better Farrell," causing Farrell to smile at his sister in obvious delight.

* * *

Hawke climbed into the bed where Fenris was waiting. She settled herself against him and thought to herself that this is what she had always imagined all those years ago. As she thought of that younger self, Hawke whimsically sent her a message in her mind. A message filled with confidence that someday her dreams would all come true. Perhaps a silly thing to do, but it made her smile all the same.

"Fenris," she said, deciding to bring up a subject that had been on her mind for a while.

"Yes?" his voice rumbled against her throat as he pressed his mouth there.

"Varric comes tomorrow," she said.

"He owes me four sovereigns," said Fenris, his tone serious.

Hawke laughed. "You're more likely to win it from Donnic," she said.

"Hmm, that is true."

"I've been thinking," she said returning to her original idea, "of what we might do after Bethany's child is born." Varric's arrival was the beginning of several months of visitors and traveling, but she'd been thinking a lot about what came after.

"Do?" he asked, his tone simply curious.

"I've been wondering how much longer will we stay here," she clarified.

"Stay in this borrowed house," he said. "Yes, I have wondered that, too."

"I love it here," she said. "It's quiet and comfortable and safe, but…"

"Isolated," he finished for her.

"Yes," she said. "If it weren't for the Chantry Seekers, the choice would be easier."

"Where would you like to go?" he asked, running a hand down her side in a soothing motion.

"Anywhere… everywhere…" She smiled up at him. "What about you?"

"Truthfully?" he asked.

She nodded, wanting to know his thoughts.

"As long as I am with you and the twins, it matters not to me," he said. "And yet we must consider the risks carefully."

Hawke sighed. "I suppose I will never truly be free of what happened in Kirkwall."

"I understand the feeling," said Fenris, "but you of all people should know that is not true."

She smiled up at him then, her best smile, and said, "You're right of course." She remembered just how much her fierce warrior had struggled through to free himself of his past. She leaned up to kiss him. "And we needn't decide anything tonight," she added.

"Perhaps there are better things to do with our time tonight?" Fenris asked, his kiss a promise of those better things.

"Mmm," Hawke murmured, "My favorite thing."


	43. Epilogue 4 of 4

_A/N And Varric shall have the last word…_

* * *

**EPILOGUE NINE – VARRIC**

**FROM THE JOURNAL OF VARRIC TETHRIS**

It was a dark and stormy night…

Hehe, just shitting you. It was actually a beautiful summer afternoon, with sunshine and birdsong and soft breezes, the day I showed up at the hunting lodge after almost two years away. I was just going for the dramatic effect. Storyteller, remember?

When I told Cassandra Pentaghast I didn't know where the Champion was, of course I was prevaricating. Hawke and her elf have much more important jobs than saving all of Thedas, and their names are Melody and Farrell. Of course the Seeker kept that old book where I'd written all about Hawke's heroic deeds, but I kept my journal safe, and no one will ever get their hands on it. That's where all the important stuff is written, you know.

I would certainly tell Hawke all about my latest misadventures in Kirkwall - later. Right then there were two little urchins begging for attention, and it was past time I became better acquainted with them.

If my usually impeccable handwriting seems a bit of a mess, you can blame that on urchin number one - Melody, otherwise known as _Sparrow_ to her Uncle Varric. She's sitting on my lap at this very moment, helping me write this particular entry.

She is so much like her mother - from her beautiful, heart-stopping smile to her dancing, mischievous eyes – it's uncanny. I admit I fell in love with Hawke's daughter all over again as soon as she came running up to me, not a shy bone in her body, singing, "Who are you?"

Little Sparrow sings everything, most often in threes. Truthfully it might be weird, if it weren't so incredibly sweet. She's got everyone in this household wrapped around her little finger – well, except for her mother. Hawke has a way with her, you see. It's like they have a secret agreement that little Sparrow can have free rein as long as she does what _Mama_ says.

Even Aveline is affected – I've never seen our stodgy Guard Captain smile so much. And never mind us men – like I said, she has her mother's smile. I've never known a person of the male persuasion who can resist it, hehe.

Then there is urchin number two – Farrell. Two years old and the boy's teaching himself to play the lute! When I saw him playing the thing, I admit I was speechless, and you know how rarely that happens.

I haven't come up with a nickname for the boy yet. He's got the same serious expression as his father, and the sober eyes to match, but it doesn't seem right to call him _little broody. _It isn't like he never smiles – my Sparrow has his face lighting up several times a day, at least.

Last night, as I was cleaning and oiling Bianca, Farrell came up and studied my efforts very intently, so I asked him, "What?"

He held out his little hand, and after hesitating a moment (it is Bianca, after all) I handed him the polishing cloth. Maker, if the boy didn't take up where I left off, rubbing with the grain in just the right way. I'd never admit this to a soul, but he nearly did a better job of it than me. Can you believe that?

Ah, here comes Mama Hawke now, scooping little Sparrow off my lap because it's time for bed.

I think tonight it's past time I told Hawke the story of what happened when I went back to Kirkwall…

* * *

Last night's little gathering reminded me too much of who wasn't there. No Rivaini and no Daisy, which made my heart sad – although the news I've managed to gather on both of them is all good. The last I heard of Anders, however, was that King Alistair had banished him from Denerim for killing a bunch of Templars. Poor Blondie. I wonder where he is now?

At least we'll get to see Sunshine and Sebastian in a couple of weeks. Yeah, I can't seem to call him by those nicknames, anymore. He's the Prince of Starkhaven now, and doing such a fine job even I can't find it in me to rib him about it.

I was in storyteller paradise as I told our shrunken group about how I was captured by the Seekers and interrogated by Cassandra Pentaghast. That was a long couple of days I spent in Hawke's old mansion, let me tell you. By the end of it my voice was so hoarse I could barely speak. I told Hawke what I'm telling you now – I mostly gave Cassandra the truth. The Seeker arrived in Kirkwall believing all kinds of crazy rumors about Hawke and the rest of us, _and_ about what happened at the Chantry that fateful day. I hope I set her straight on the important things. And if I embellished a bit about Hawke's heroic daring deeds, well who can blame me?

I could see the light in Hawke's eyes when I'd finished my tale. There was definitely a part of her that wanted to throw herself right back into the chaotic turmoil that is Thedas these days. But I also saw the way that she shook her head as if to clear it, and the self-depreciating smile that curved her lips. There was also the way she took ahold of her elf's hand, and the way he brought her hand to his lips. Some things never change, thankfully.

I noticed, as well, the thoughtful way that Aveline was looking at Hawke. As if she knew as well as I did that the Seekers really could use someone like our fearless leader to help them out with their oh-so-massive problems. Hopefully, like me, she only need think of those two little urchins to banish that possibility from her brain. No, the times have moved on, and though we all had our part to play, it's time for other's to deal with this mess.

For now, I'm just going to relax and enjoy this much-needed respite, until we make the trip to Starkhaven. I hate to admit it, but for once in my life I don't mind the country so much. Being with Hawke and her family, it seems to grow on a person.

* * *

I haven't had the time to write here very much lately. The two weeks at the lodge passed quickly, and before I knew it we were back in the city, and there's always a lot happening in Starkhaven. I took my old room at the inn, even though the Prince and Princess did everything they could think of to convince me to stay at the palace. That pretentious bullshit just isn't for me. I don't think I could have slept a wink in one of those soft, feathery beds.

Here's something funny. Well, maybe not funny. Actually it was gruesome. When we first arrived in Starkhaven on the donkey cart Aveline and Donnic had brought with them, there was this pike sticking out of the ground right outside the gates. Stuck on top of it was a misshapen round blob, and I couldn't figure out what it was.

"What is that?" I asked Aveline curiously.

"Oh that," she replied in a non-answer.

"Come on Aveline, is that what I think it is?" I pushed her.

She leaned back to me and said in a low voice (the urchins, you see, do have ears), "That's Jergan's head."

"What?" And I'm not ashamed that I burst out laughing. "You're kidding me, right? The high and mighty Prince of Starkhaven did that?"

Aveline shook her head. "No, it wasn't Sebastian. We don't know who did it, but Sebastian allowed it to stay there, nonetheless."

Jergan's head on a pike. Will wonders never cease? Hehe.

* * *

It turns out we arrived back in the city just in time, because the first word we got out of the palace was that Princess Sunshine was in labor. Hawke went to her sister right away, leaving Fenris and I with the twins. We spent most of the day in the gardens, and I swear every bird and butterfly within fifty miles must have come to pay a visit to my little Sparrow. Have you ever seen a little girl, her hair covered in butterflies so thick she looks like a miniature fairy queen? Didn't think so.

Just as we were sitting down for the evening meal Hawke came in looking tired, but very happy.

"It's a boy," she said with a smile. "A beautiful, healthy baby boy."

"Baby, baby, baby!" sang little Sparrow. "See him, Mama? Pease?"

"Please," corrected Farrell.

Hawke scooped her little girl up in her arms. "We'll see your new cousin tomorrow, Melody. He's sleeping with Auntie right now."

"What's his name?" I asked, wondering what sort of pretentious name they'd burden the new little princeling with.

Hawke's eyes got teary. "They named him Malcolm," she said. "Malcolm Sebastian Vael."

Fenris picked up Farrell and came to stand with Hawke, still holding Melody. What a family they are. I had to swallow really hard a couple of times myself, just looking at them. I have to admit it stretched my imagination to picture Hawke and Fenris as parents, but now? By the ancestors, I can't imagine a world without those kids in it.

* * *

Turns out the new little prince was one good-looking little baby. I guess with Sunshine and Sebastian as parents, it was inevitable. He had all his fingers and toes, too – which I hear is always a good thing – and a whole headful of jet-black hair. Sunshine was her usual, stunning self. I'm glad I got the chance to see her again and meet her new little urchin. Hehe – I never let Sebastian hear me calling him that.

Hawke wants to stick around here for a while to help her sister with the new little one, and I think I will, too.

But late at night, the three of us (me, Hawke & her elf) have been sitting around playing cards, drinking ale and concocting some travel plans of our own – together. Maybe we'll hop on a barge upriver, and from there take ship at Bastion. Maybe we'll sail across the Waking Sea. Who knows?

After all, I can't let my little Sparrow and her brother grow up without their Uncle Varric around, now can I?

If anything interesting happens? Well, I'll be sure to let you know.

~ V.T.

* * *

**_A/N _**

**__****_If you'd care to leave me just a word or two in the comment box below, letting me know if you liked Misadventures, it would be hugely appreciated :)_**

**_Thank you all so much for taking this journey with me - again. This story will always hold a special place in my heart, and that I could share it in this way means more to me than I can say._**

**_Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this redux, and also the original version I published last spring. Also thank you to everyone who helped me along the way - Muah!_**

**_The story of Hawke, Fenris, Melody and Farrell continues on in: _**

**"Misadventures: A Collection of Shorts"**

** "Between Heaven and the Abyss."**

**_True Heart!_**

**_Wintry_**


End file.
